Black as Midnight, Sweet as Sin
by Thessaly
Summary: Bookflavoured musical from Fiyero's point of view. Eight years, four kisses, three friends, two romances, and one possible conclusion.
1. Strange Exhileration

**(A/N) **_The title is a phrase Neil Gaiman tosses around every so and the rest is Maguire and the musical team, as you should well know. Book-flavoured musical world characters with the assistance of some book students to fill out the class (the boys were too good to leave out). My personal disclaimer: I love the book; I like the musical, although I think it has some serious characterization issues in places and a very odd sense of time. For purposes of character continuity, I'm using artistic license to an appalling degree; Fiyero is at Shiz, but Dancing Through Life has not happened yet. All right? Good. This part was written as pure uncut fluff for **Tom O'Bedlam**. Well, what are you all standing around for? Go and read her work! Now! Scuttle off…and mind you REVIEW!_

Later, when things had ended, and memory had melted into legend, and no one was absolutely positive what had happened, he asked her where she thought it had started. He was expecting the answer to involve himself asleep in a rickshaw, or Nessa, or maybe Frex and Melena and a traveling merchant. Instead she gave him a thoughtful look and told him that if he really wanted to place it, he would have to start with the library. She supplied the introduction with a crooked smile and told him that the rest of it was his to tell. He supposed she was probably right.

Elphaba Thropp woke that early that particular February morning and climbed out of her window to watch the sun rise over Shiz. This was slightly more complicated than it first appeared, given she had to make sure her roomie was both fast asleep – for who needed a Galinda fit of vapours when one was climbing out the window? – and warmly wrapped up (winters even on the Gillikin boarder were cold). Fortunately Miss Galinda Arduenna was tucked up into a deeply somnambulant state and likely to remain there, come frost or fire.

The weak winter sun rose late and set early; Elphaba was out her window and standing, straight and tall, on the roof at six to watch the pale light skim out from behind the clouds. It gave her great pleasure to be up so high – two stories and then some – and to be able to look down on a little world which was not, at the moment, inhabited. It was just her; Nessa was asleep and self-sufficient, and Galinda, for once, needed no attention. At this moment, the only person alive in this frozen universe was Elphaba. She liked it that way.

But once the sun was fully up, she had to clamber back in the window again. Soon enough the groundsmen would be coming around, crunching over the new snow, and were more than likely to heckle a Crage Hall girl standing on her own roof. They were also more than likely to turn her over to the Head in disgrace. Not that Elphaba _minded_ being dragged in to see Morrible all the time, but she didn't want to go today. Today was special; it was an Elphaba day, and nothing was going to bring her down.

Back inside with a good two hours before lectures started, Elphaba did what seemed reasonable to her and celebrated her eighteenth birthday by washing her hair.

---

Evening found Misses Galinda and Nessarose taking callers in the west sitting room of Crage. They shouldn't really have been, but the Monday evening deputy Madam Allerson knew Fiyero's father and was more than happy to allow it. Galinda, seated at the little gilt table, was ostensibly writing home to her family, but in reality distracting and being distracted by an unrepentantly idle Fiyero. He ranged around the room, tawny and amiable, making jokes just salacious enough to make Nessa blush at her embroidery. Boq sat on the sofa watching Fiyero and Galinda with a sour expression.

"Go away, silly. I certainly can't tell Mommy about _you_," said Galinda, giggling.

Fiyero shrugged extravagantly. "Very well. If I'm not _that_ important…" he said, crossing the room to peer over Nessa's shoulder. "That's pretty. What is it?"

Nessarose moved a little and Fiyero smelled a strong, husky incense. "It's a pillow," she said.

"Why are you making a pillow?" Fiyero asked, slightly bored with Galinda. "Can't you just buy one?" Nessa had embroidered the cover already – a neat geometric pattern of white threads on the black broadcloth – and was engaged in attaching it to the body of the pillow itself.

"Not with Quadling _pot pourri_ in," said Nessa. "It's a gift." She smiled up at Fiyero with the bounty of the charitable. "It's Elphie's birthday today."

"Is it?" said Galinda. "And I didn't wish her happy returns. Dear me, how embarrassing. Well, I suppose if she doesn't tell anybody, it's her own fault."

Fiyero rested an arm on Galinda's table and pulled one of her curls. "Elphie? Who's that?"

Galinda squealed, then said, "You know, that girl in my Sorcery lectures. She's green."

"Oh, the _green_ girl. Right." He tugged another curl. "Isn't she your roomie or something?"

Galinda made a little _moue_ of disgust. "Yes, un_for_tunately. Although it is rather nice to have someone to copy off of when I need to. She's very clever, you know."

"Yes," said Fiyero. "I think I _do_ know. I remember her now; she lives in the library. I can't imagine why they put you two together."

"Some confusion," said Galinda darkly. "Don't ask." Then added, "Don't _do_ that!"

"But I'm _bored_," he answered, inserting a hint of a whine. "I know. Let's take the birthday girl out for dinner."

"What?' said Boq, starting.

"Sweet Lurline, _why_?" said Galinda, blue eyes going very wide.

"I'm not sure - " began Nessa.

"For Oz's sake, she's only going to turn – what is it, eighteen? – once," said Fiyero, stretching. "And it sounds like the only thing she's going to get is a solemn little gift from her solemn little sister. She deserves to have some fun, doesn't she? Plus I want to go into town tonight."

"Fiyero," said Galinda firmly, "Elphie doesn't know what fun _means_. And she wouldn't want any if you asked her."

Fiyero grinned, leaned over and tipped her chin up. "And how do you know that, Miss Galinda? _Have_ you asked her?"

Galinda pushed his hand away. "No, for your information, I haven't." She sighed prettily. "Oh very well. I _do_ want to go out tonight. We might as well celebrate her birthday."

"_If_ you think it's all right, Nessa?" said Boq out of duty.

Nessa flushed. "I think it's acceptable, as long as there is no strong liquor," she said softly.

Fiyero, always rather amused by Nessa, gave a suspicious-sounding cough. "Oh, I think we'll manage, Miss Nessa." He tugged one of Galinda's curls to make her jump, kissed Nessa's cheek to make her blush dark red, and said cheerfully, "Hey, Munchkin, you want to come to town and make a reservation?"

"All right, Winkie," said Boq, pushing himself off the couch and diving for the door.

"Right – you're going to _get it_, dwarf!" Fiyero grinned at the girls. "Ladies, excuse me. Eight o'clock?" and ran after Boq yelling something about revenge. Galinda giggled and Nessa shook her head with a discreet smile.

Typically, the hardest part of the effort was getting Elphaba to come out of the library. Fiyero had some magical power over _maitre d_'s and could get reservations anywhere, but extracting Elphaba from the book stacks when she had installed herself for the night was next to impossible. Even _finding_ Elphaba, Boq discovered, was hard enough. Eventually he made it to the third-floor reading room and found his target, surrounded by books and chewing on a strand of her long hair. "Miss Elphie?"

She looked up. "Hello, Boq. Look, call me Elphie or Miss Elphaba – the former for preference – but don't mix them. It sounds ridiculous."

"All right," said Boq. He liked Elphaba because she was Galinda's roomie, but having been in a few lectures with her, he was still wisely intimidated. "I'm sorry, Miss – I mean, Elphie. I mean…"

"Not much of an improvement, I'm afraid," she said and smiled, awkwardly.

Boq took the smile as it was offered and felt the atmosphere thaw a little. "Look, Nessa wants to play cards in the Crage lounge, and we need a fourth. She wanted you to come join her. Um, us?"

For his pains, he was fixed with a severe dark stare. "Aren't you only allowed to visit on the weekends?"

"Madam Allerson likes Fiyero."

"Ah, the unquenchable Fiyero," said Elphaba dryly. "I think sometime I should actually _talk_ to the boy, but I hear so much about him that it's almost unnecessary. Tell Nessa 'no thanks.' I'd rather be here."

"All right," said Boq. He couldn't think of anything else to say, so he backed out, feeling a bit squashed.

They sent Galinda up next. She floated into the room and looked at the other girl, who was flipping through a very long book. "Elphie," she said. "I'm bored."

"What am I supposed to do about that?" said Elphaba without looking up.

"Amuse me," said Galinda. "Obviously."

"Obviously," echoed Elphaba. She had long ago learned that the other girl was impervious to sarcasm, but that hadn't exactly stopped her from using it. "Sorry, Galinda. I have no idea what _I_ could do to amuse _you_."

"Well," said Galinda cheerfully, "You could start by coming downstairs."

"Sorry, I'm not interested."

"Elphie!" Galinda stamped a pretty little foot. "You're not playing."

"No, I'm probably cheating or something." She looked up thoughtfully. "I wonder how far that metaphor extends?"

"Who cares?" said Galinda. She grabbed Elphaba's arm. "Come _on_. We want you downstairs."

Elphaba was not meant to be dragged. "Galloony," she said patiently, "let go of me. I'm staying right here with this terribly _in_teresting book of Unionist sermons."

Galinda flushed with temper. "_Don't _call me that, you freak."

Elphaba shut her book with a thud that made Galinda jump. She squeaked. "Galinda Arduenna, you are remarkably resistant to tact. Two things," she held up two long fingers, "One, and we've covered this: just because we're roommates, we don't have to be friends, _ergo_, we don't have to do _things _together." Her face twitched. "Two, please go away. Whatever you're planning, I'm not interested." She glared intently at Galinda.

Downstairs, a flushed Galinda explained that Elphie wasn't coming and then added with pique, "do we _have_ to take her?"

Fiyero threw up his hands in mock despair. "Look, how hard is it to get one girl out of the library?" He stood up and smiled at Galinda. "Yes, of course we have to take her, you silly; otherwise we don't get permission to go out at _all_. I'll fetch her."

He headed upstairs. He didn't have much to do with Galinda's unsociable roommate, though he heard quite a lot about her from Nessa and Galinda and Boq and Tibbett and Crope and even, he realized, Avaric. Everybody knew her but him; how strange. He wondered if the real Elphaba was very different from the shadow girl who figured in the stories of her acquaintances. People usually got…exaggerated.

The third-floor reading room was circular and full of over-stuffed chairs but the only occupant had disdained the armchairs for the windowseat, where she sat with a book in her lap. Well, that would be Elphaba, Eminent Thropp Third Descending, all right. She was certainly very green; that much was obvious and true. But no one had mentioned her hair. Transfixed, Fiyero stood still in the doorway and stared. Later he tried to remember the last time he'd been stopped by the sight of a girl and failed; he must have been about twelve, perhaps? At any rate, it was a long time ago. He was used to girls by now. Except…

Not this one, with those slim, spring-green fingers turning the pages of her book and her hair, jet black and spangled with blue lights, falling over her shoulders. It softened the pronounced angles of her face, made her somehow less threatening and almost…pretty? Never. No, Elphaba Thropp would never be anything near so simple as pretty. And she was _green_, for Oz's sake!

She looked up and shook back a wave of hair. "Come or go; don't hover on the threshold."

So he came in and walked over to her. For Fiyero, introductions happened to other people. "You have lovely hair," he said, lifting a strand of the black glory-scarf free over her shoulders. It was water-smooth between his fingers. "Black as midnight, sweet as sin."

She was surprised; that much was obvious from the slight stiffening of her shoulders. Fiyero knew girls, knew how they reacted. Like her sister, this one was unused to flirtation, but Nessa did not have this energy, the quality of unsettling vibrance and power that hung about Elphaba. She could play this game if she wanted, he thought.

She stayed very still, allowing the liberty, then said briskly, "How can my hair be sweet?" and twisted away from his hands.

Fiyero smiled. "I suppose it can't be. Artistic license…" his voice trailed off and he shrugged.

Elphaba turned to look at him directly. "Fiyero Tiggular, I presume?" He sketched a bow. "Don't tell me, you want me to go downstairs with you and be amusing."

"But of course."

"What is this, a plot?"

"More or less," said Fiyero, grinning. "Shall I tell you?"

She turned a page ostentatiously, and said, "You obviously _want_ to. I can't stop you."

"Well," he placed himself on the end of the windowseat and stretched his long legs out in front of him. "I found out something interesting today. Nessa was embroidering cushion; apparently it was going to be a gift." He raised an eyebrow. "Turns out somebody was having a birthday. I figured some celebration was in order."

Elphaba turned another page. "And if I say no?"

Fiyero moved very fast; most people didn't expect that from him. He was on his feet and leaning over her before she really noticed. One hand closed on her shoulder and the other, snaking around her back, trapped her hand on the page. "I really wouldn't recommend it," he said, softly. Then added cheerfully, "Do you always twitch when people touch you?"

She turned her head the necessary two inches to see his face and caught, properly, the grin in his voice. "Do you know, I've never found out," she said. She was almost smiling herself. "Most people avoid it." _Oh yes_, thought Fiyero, surrounded by the smell of Quadling incense from her hair, _she could play this game. And, dear Lurline, she'd probably win._ "Should I consider myself threatened?"

Fiyero cleared his throat. "I think that would be appropriate."

"And if I put up a fight?"

The arm around her back tightened. "Unless you want to be carried, probably kicking and screaming, to your own birthday celebrations, I would suggest…not."

Elphaba smiled properly then and asked, in a voice of pure academic interest, "Could you really carry me down three flights of library stairs and into the town?"

Fiyero stood up, which forced her to her feet as well. With a squeeze of summer hunt muscles, he lifted her off the floor a few inches, walked several steps, then put her down and let go. "Probably not," he admitted. "And definitely not like that. But I'd try, if that counts for anything. Just come, won't you? We all want to get out for a bit."

Elphaba put her book down. "Oh, all right. To save your poor, manly frame. And because we must, at all costs, keep Galinda from dying of boredom." She pushed her hair back and Fiyero, surprising himself as much as her, put his hand out to stop her.

"No, don't."

"What? My hair?"

He touched it again. "It really is beautiful."

She smiled, an almost gentle look. "It's not beauty – surprise. Just surprise that I look the way I do in the right light." Her hands moved quickly and plaited her hair into a tail that hung down her back. "But only in the right light." There was a moment of quiet. Fiyero had the bizarre feeling that she was allowing him time to turn back into the laughing society boy who had wandered into the library – her world – on a callow dare. He'd had a glimpse of something rarer than society charm: real sprit and intelligence. But that was it: only one glimpse. "Is it snowing?" Elphaba asked, and Fiyero realized the moment of intimacy was over. She was the again unpopular roommate and he the charming young man.

"Might be," he said. At the door of the warm room he said only, "After you, Miss Elphaba."

---

He didn't bother to explain to Galinda how he had persuaded Elphaba to come out. He waggled his eyebrows and said only that he had been charming. Galinda giggled, and that was that. Aside from lingering confusion on the part of one member, no one could have had a nicer birthday. The restaurant was excellent, and all of them – Galinda had gathered the Three Queens and Briscoe boys as well as Misses Milla and Shen-shen (who would go anywhere if Avaric was involved) – managed to get along for the evening. Despite Elphaba being the guest of honour.

Nessa was convinced to allow a bottle of wine so they could all toast Elphaba (and drink the rest of it of course, but best not to mention that to Nessa. If you didn't actually _tell_ her, she tended not to notice the things she didn't want to see). They all sang on the way home, with romantic ballads from the tipsy girls and Avaric. Tibbett and Crope sang dirty songs and Fiyero organized pushing them into the snow a few times to cool them off (it didn't work ,but was rather fun anyway). What they all remembered was Elphaba's clear voice soaring into the frozen cold until it sounded as though the stars were singing. She didn't have a soprano quite on the level of Galinda's of course, but she had range and power and passion, and that was what was important.

And, what was more important to Elphaba, scuffing her boots in the snow, was that it was her birthday. And it had been near perfect.


	2. Something Bad

**(A/N)** _Something appropriate (scarves? A pink rose? A pointy hat?) to **Veronika Green** who told me that the original end of the first chapter (now missing, to reappear later) was too abrupt and got me thinking about continuing it. Er; this owes a lot to **Scleris Mokrey**'s fic "The New Student." Please don't hate me; I couldn't help it. I'm going with the suggestion in the musical that Elphaba is not actually allergic to water and thus will survive a deluge in perfect health though not temper. Likewise, Frex is the governor of Munchkinland instead of a peripatetic preacher. Sigh. Thanks for the reviews, lovely people. Tell me if the formatting for this one is confusing; I'm sorry, but I couldn't resist the opportunity to write some epistolary narration. _

---

Fiyero

One hell of a grandorgeous vacation here. When are you lot coming to your townhouse? I need to introduce you to Minnie and Ara and Sanni and, well, and the rest of the chorus line for Wiz-o-Mania.

Your man in the Emerald City, Avaric

---

Av

Fat chance. Parents expect me to be here all blasted summer entertaining people. Pro: free booze. Con: scary old ladies who want to know if I've found a nice Vinkus girl to marry. As if there were any to begin with…!

Parents bought me a _wicked_ tic-toc carriage for birthday though. Been wanting it for absolute _ever_ and they said they got it because I was still at Shiz. What a laugh, right? So far, it's third on my list: E.C. Academy – year and a half, Oz Army School – year, Shiz University – two terms. Doing well, aren't I? Might even stay all of next year if I don't get bored (hah!).

Come and visit me and have a ride on the tic-toc. And don't catch anything; the Wiz-o-Mania chorus line gets around.

Fiyero

---

Dear Nessa

How is your summer? We heard about some kind of storm in Munchkinland or something like that, and it sounded _horrible_.

Would you like to come out and visit me for a while? _Do_ say yes! I'm so bored I think I might go out and dye my old dresses orange. Well, maybe not, but something extreme, anyway. You'd love it here; the Uplands are beautiful and _very_ healthy; _everyone_ says so! See if your father will let you. Please?

Hugs and kisses, Galinda

---

Dear Galinda

Thank you for your letter – it was so thoughtful. Yes, we've had some really dreadful weather – unusual here – and the crops are a mess, though I don't understand completely what happened. I'm no good at agriculture, but it's my country and I've been praying to the Unnamed God all summer. Elphaba has been working with the Munchkins and their farm Animals – probably driving them crazy – and Father spends all his time at the Courts. I try to make myself useful, but there are some things I just cannot do.

I've spoken to Father, and he thinks your invitation is wonderful. Is it all right if I come in about a week? I'll catch the 5:00 train and maybe you could ask someone to meet me at the station?

Much love, Nessarose

---

Dear Boq

I'm having a really lovely time here. I never realized the Upperuplands were so beautiful. I know you're probably busy, but can't you take just a little break and come visit for a while? Avaric and Fiyero are pretty close – well, just Fiyero at Kiamo Eiver, but Avaric's visiting – and we're going to go see them sometime. Right now, though, we need a few more people here. Galinda and I wanted you to come. Please? I can't get on without you.

Affectionately yours, Nessarose

---

Dear Boq

Of course you're an idiot. I keep telling you she's not interested; maybe you should believe me for once. And if you're that miserable, come home and put your farm back together. I'm helping Gaz and your father as much as I can, but you know how things work better here than me.

Besides, that EEC man has been snooping around here again. He wants to know if Gaz is "reliable" and he won't listen to _me_. Something's up, Boq, and you need to be here instead of mooning over that brainless girl.

Sincerely, Elphaba Thropp

---

Dear Elphaba

Stop yelling at me; I'm sure you've got it under control. You can show anybody what's what, even the EEC. And you _know_ I hate that farm. If Animals could still own land, I'd make Father deed the whole damn thing over to Gaz.

Anyway, just tell Gaz what to do and make sure Father gets his rest. Oh, and your sister is driving me absolute _bats_. Is she always this single-minded? Oops…got to run. Galinda's waiting by the hot springs (and she's _not_ brainless! Don't ever say that again).

Boq

---

Dear Boq

Yes, we're both single-minded. It's how we were brought up. And my sister, in case you didn't notice, has an enormous crush on you. You can either tell her yes or no, but stop ignoring her. And seriously, please do come home. Gaz wants you too.

Sincerely, Elphaba Thropp

---

Dear Boq

You're a heartless rat bastard. You do know that, right?

Sincerely, Elphaba Thropp

---

Dear Fiyero

It was good to see you in the Uplands. I wish I was still there, actually. North it's like nothing is happening, but down here its sort of…humid. Like I said, we had a pretty bad storm at the beginning of July. Most of the wheat got ruined and a lot of the early apples. And of course my family wanted me to fix it. Father lost his leg when I was twelve, so he's not really doing much anymore, and my mother works pretty hard to keep me at school (helped, I should add, by a hefty scholarship endowed by Noran Tiggular). Our head Collie Gaz looks after the farm, but a lot of the staff Animals quit during the year. I can't figure out if it was government pressure or choice, but it sounds kind of dodgy. Now there's an official from the EEC here making things a bit difficult.

Plus both Thropp sisters are driving me stark raving mad. Miss Elphaba hates me and Miss Nessa adores me; I'm not sure which one is worse.

Oh well. Probably more information that you needed to know, and pretty bleak at that. Feed it to the Kiamo Eiver Swans or something.

Boq

---

Boq

Hey, Shorty, calm down. Everybody has bad summers. I'm sure things will get better soon.

Hadn't you already figured out that both Thropp girls are crazy? Miss Elphaba hates everybody. You know that. Tried to glare holes in my back all last year in Linguistics; said I took her seat or something. And for goodness sake, Shorty, tell Nessa you're Not Interested! Or get raving drunk and try insulting her or something. She's so uptight she'll probably skid away fast as her wheels can carry her.

The EEC same as the Emerald City Commission? They've been around here a few times too. Tried to get the Mater to donate Daphnus and Chloe – the Swans you were so anxious to feed – to an Emerald City Confinement Centre. The Mater hit the roof and the Pater explained that Kiamo Eiver was their _home_ and all that rot. The EEC man went away thinking they were pets or something. Pretty ridiculous, given that Daphnus taught me how to swim. They used to give me rides in the moat too. I miss it. The EEC's a bit of a bad lot though, and having them go for your factor after this summer's weather is totally not on. Tell you what – I'll ask the Pater to stop in their office when he goes to the city next.

Oh, dammit. That featherhead Shen-shen Lee stayed the night with Av (we saw that one coming, in more ways than one, didn't we, Shorty?) and she's going to wake the Parents unless Av puts a pillow over her head. Am going to have to deal with first-class scandal.

Fiyero

---

Dear Fiyero

You are _so_ bad. Don't you know you can't keep an unmarried girl overnight? Shen has a perfect right to flirt with Av if she wants, but spending the night – Yero, what were you _thinking_? If anyone finds out, her reputation isn't going to be worth – worth – well, worth _anything_! And _what_ am I going to tell my parents? I knew you were scandelacious, but try not to inflict it on my friends, please!

Your annoyed, Galinda

---

Dear Fiyero

No need for your father to visit the EEC, I'm afraid. They just took Gaz off the property about half an hour ago and I don't think even Mr. Tiggular can deal with them. Governor Thropp certainly tried, and it didn't do anything. On the other hand, they'd just arrested his daughter, so they weren't very happy with him anyway.

Oh, cow-dung. Urgent message from Miss Nessa. More later.

Boq

---

My very dear Miss Arduenna

I had nothing to do with Shen and Av and their night of hopeless passion (and hopeless really is the right word, unless you want to use pathetic; you should have _seen_ Av the next morning). Parents don't know so Shen's reputation is safe. Besides, Parents were here and she _had_ a maid. And stop calling me Yero; the Parents call me that. Sounds funny coming from you.

Fiyero

---

Boq

Governor Thropp is an idiot. And _what_ are you talking about? Shen went home – finally – and the Parents didn't find out. Now fielding angrily flirtatious letters from Miss Arduenna of the Upperuplands. What do you reckon? Is she mad because Shen didn't take her along for the evening, or does she expect me to get so mad I'll drag her to Kiamo Eiver by the hair?

Fiyero

---

Dear _Fi_yero

I know perfectly well what you and Dessie were doing, and it had nothing to do with chaperoning. If the maid is distracted and the Parents somewhere else, that doesn't make it right! Shen is absolutely _shattered_ (and Dessie won't shut up about you – didn't anyone ever tell you that seducing the maids was _not on_?).

If you want me to forgive you for this catastrophying holiday, you are going to have to be _very_ nice.

Galinda Arduenna of the Upperuplands.

---

Dear Fiyero

Sorry to hear about Shen-shen and Avaric. I really didn't think they'd be that indiscreet but…if anyone were going to, it would be them. And didn't I tell you that they tried to arrest Elphaba? Oh, no, Nessa sent something over and I stopped, didn't I? All right; I know I've been getting on with her a lot better than the rest of you since we worked in the library Spring Term, and I've seen more of her than I needed this summer, but even I'm going to admit it was hilarious and deserved. Well, anyway. She'd been helping out Gaz on the farm pretty much all summer, especially while I was in the Uplands. They were good friends, I think (she seems to get on better with Animals than people. Maybe it's because she's an odd colour?).

Anyway, when she heard they were going to take Gaz into custody, she went to the farm and stood in front of the paddock and basically made a nuisance of herself. She was yelling a lot and letting off this weird lighting stuff that made her hair stand on end. Have you ever seen her do that before? No; you weren't there our first day. It's pretty creepy and kind of funny. She ended up pushing one of the EEC escorts into the paddock and then she jumped on the main official and started clawing at him. Eventually someone dumped a bucket of water over her. She started screaming absolute bloody murder; I've never heard anyone make a noise like that; she sounded like she was in pain or something. Then they got her off the man and tried to arrest her for Assault and Obstruction of Lawful Justice. Everybody got really muddy.

Governor Thropp told them she was crazy, and so she didn't have to go to jail, at least. Nessa was absolutely mortified and stayed at home for a week. It was nice and quiet. We've hired a new factor now and he's all right, but I miss Gaz. He was _good_. I don't care what they say about the place of Animals in a modern society, but nobody does agriculture like an Animal.

Well, that's enough from me. Hope the gossip re. the charming Miss Elphaba made you laugh a bit. I think I need to start spending my summers away Munchkinland and the Thropp sisters. See you in a few weeks, Winkie.

Boq


	3. Swankified

**(A/N) **_Don't worry, children. We're back to regular narrative. Standard "don't own it" jokes apply to both book and musical references; thanks for reviewing. I don't have a copy of the book on me – could someone remind me how to spell Vinkus (one "u" or two?) and Tibbett (as in the other half of Crope and)? I have this nagging feeling I'm spelling them both wrong._

Sprawled in his train compartment, feet stretched over a bank of seats, Fiyero felt calmed by the rumble of the train. He'd wanted to take his tic-toc to Shiz – what an entrance that would make! – but the Pater wouldn't let him and the Morrible didn't want it on the grounds. He tipped his face up to the sunshine and shut his eyes. _Whatever_. In spite of expectations from every front, he was actually looking forward to going back to school. He found that he liked the old buildings with the portraits of forgotten Masters and ancient hangings; the odd wall plaques detailing awards that had been given for centuries. He liked the playing fields with their view towards the Gillikin mountains, and the fantastic sunsets. And he even liked the people; he was excited by the prospect of two more years with light-headed Avaric, solemn Boq, mad Crope and Tibbett. Even feather-brained Shen-shen and catty Milla and serious Nessa would be entertaining. Maybe even the strange, criminal Miss Elphaba.

And, of course, Galinda Arduenna. She'd been so after him all of last year that he hadn't really noticed her until she'd refused to speak to him. But ever since Shen-shen and Avaric and their miniature scandal, he'd been thinking about her. Galinda. He missed having her attention turned on him, the teasing and the giggles, and maybe even the hair tosses. It annoyed him that she hadn't written to him at all. He'd get her back, he thought, lazy in the sunshine. He was perfect and she was perfect and that's how they'd be; perfect together. He drifted off to sleep, lulled by dreams of himself and Galinda being cheered by a huge crowd.

Once into Briscoe, Fiyero dumped his bags and swapped summer stories with Avaric. They went outside and found, as they'd hoped, Misses Galinda, Milla, and Shen-shen, summery and conspicuous on the main quad. They were perfectly placed to be seen, sitting on the edge of the Centennial Fountain and sharing a large tumbler of mint tea with three straws. Their light sundresses blew about their legs; tomorrow it would be winter uniforms, but today they wore colours picked to stand out against the vivid green of the quad. Milla wore yellow, her black hair twisted up in a hideously complicated style that made it look as though it were in the process of falling down; Shen-shen had on a dress that suggested rose and apricot, soft and sweet and generous. And Galinda was in pale blue, with star-shaped clip holding her hair back. They looked very pretty and were dressed to be seen. It was always about eyes, Fiyero thought. Always people watching you and you watching people and standing out in just the right way. He shrugged and advanced. "Hello, ladies. Tell me, how was your summer?"

Shen-shen ran to Avaric and melted into his arms. Dead loss, that one was going to be, Fiyero thought sourly. He smiled at Galinda who turned her back and said in a stage-whisper to Milla, "Don't! We're not speaking to him, are we?"

But aside from the rightness of relationships – well, some, anyway; Galinda still wasn't speaking to him, which was _very_ strange – Boq's worry seemed to be contagious. And it was clear that the EEC had been active in Shiz as well. Bella the Cow who worked in one of the village pubs was gone, as was the Sheep, Toby the Gardener. And Dr. Lacey, the beautiful Persian Cat who taught Music and Mathematics, had resigned without explanation. Dr. Dillamond, stubborn by nature and species, continued to teach, but the entire campus was quiet, dangerous.

Fiyero ignored it all and declared a concentration in History and Linguistics, and did the reading when he had time. He even _made_ time, sometimes, although he'd never admit it. Shen-shen and Avaric appeared to have turned into one being – "Hmm, should we call them Shavren, maybe?"– and Fiyero launched a serious offensive in flirting warfare against Galinda. Boq glowered.

---

Fiyero also had another run-in with the Artichoke (or the Convict, as people were beginning to call her). He and Galinda were walking behind Maguire Hall, planning to go the back way through the playing fields and, Fiyero hoped, cut afternoon lectures and have a leisurely lunch in town. They heard the voices before they went around the corner, and stopped as if by agreement.

"Hey, Greenie," said a girl. "We heard you got arrested this summer."

"Arrested? That's an awfully long word for you," Elphaba drawled. "Three syllables! Are you sure you know what it means?"

"Are you really allergic to water?" cut in a second voice.

"Of course not," said Elphaba sourly. "Are you really allergic to Music, or do you just cut classes to entertain your gentlemen at Queens?"

"What if we splash you, like that?" said the first girl.

"Ow; stop it!"

"Oh, she _is_ allergic! Do it again!"

"I'm not allergic, you stupid cow; you're getting water all over my _library_ book."

"More! More!"

There was a terrific splash and then a scream. Fiyero and Galinda stopped lingering and hurried around the corner. Elphaba was on her feet, the front of her skirt soaked. She held an empty bucket in one hand and swung it idly; she appeared to be mildly amused. Misses Milla and Shen-shen, Galinda's cronies, were looking at Elphaba and her bucket with twin stares of horror. Milla was wet from head to foot, and Shen-shen was nearly as bad.

"Sweet Lurline," Galinda gasped. She ran to her friends. "Are you all right?"

"What's going on?" asked Fiyero mildly.

Milla started crying. "It's the Artichoke causing trouble again," she gulped. "We only asked about her summer and she poured water all over us."

Shen-shen nodded. "It was horrible. I don't know why they just didn't put her in Southstairs and have done," she added sulkily. "Got my pretty new frock all wet and everything."

"Oh…girls." Galinda fluttered around her friends, all solicitude, but careful not to get wet. "It's going to be all right. Let's get you both inside and dry, hmm." Without another glance at her wet roomie, Galinda hurried her friends away, leaving Fiyero behind. He put his hands in his pockets and watched Elphaba, rather hoping she would do something interesting. He hadn't really seen her alone since her birthday last year. He remembered she had a sense of humour, among other things, and that she could sing rather well. And that in the right light she looked…interesting. She was half turned away from him now, and after a few minutes of silence she began to laugh, a strange, broken sound that Fiyero found rather disturbing.

"What is it?" he said, fascinated and afraid to touch her. She wasn't even remotely attractive anymore, this tall, awkward girl made of planes and angles. She was just so alien she was a curiosity to watch. He wondered if she were going to explode or something.

She gasped, "I'm a convicted artichoke!" and then stopped cackling abruptly. She seemed to realize that she was talking to Fiyero – handsome, charming Fiyero. "And don't look at me like that," she added.

"Like what?"

"Like I'm a crazy, cackling, vindictive _witch_."

"What?" He held out his hands, trying to make peace. It usually worked. "Hey, hey, hold on. Why would I think that?"

She slammed the bucket into his stomach. "You heard." And with that curiously ambiguous statement, she turned and ran.

---

It was in the last golden days of October that Fiyero had his really brilliant idea. And he had it because he was, as usual, bored. They were all sitting on the main quad, ranged around the statue of Chuffrey Shiz, the founder of the university. Fiyero ripped a page out of one of his Linguistics texts and folded a paper airplane which he aimed, carefully, at Boq. It hit the boy in the head. Boq turned and, nothing loath to a little distraction, ran at Fiyero to mete out vengeance. They chased each other around the lawn a few times, distracting everybody they could find, until Fiyero took refuge on the statue of Chuffrey himself. "Can't get me, Munchkin," he jeered.

"Winkies," said Boq and shrugged. "Why fight when they can run away?"

Fiyero leaned against Chuffrey's leg. "I'm bored," he stated.

People shrugged. "Try doing your work," suggested Tibbett pertly, then turned back to his textbook.

Once Boq had returned to his book, Fiyero jumped down and sat with his back against the statue, looking at the sky. Well, somewhat. When a shapely leg passed through his line of vision, he caught the hand that went with it and pulled. Galinda sat down beside him with a little thump. "What should we do?" he asked her. "I'm bored."

She tossed her hair. "I'm not speaking to you, remember?"

Fiyero sighed. "Is this still about Shavren? All right, so they were stupid. But look at them – they're happy. They don't blame me; why should you?"

Shavren looked, at the moment, to be bordering on orgasmic. Galinda flipped her hair again. "I don't know." She sneaked a sidelong glance at Fiyero, who pretended not to notice. "But you are _very_ bad."

Fiyero quirked an eyebrow and snaked an arm around her shoulders. He whispered in her ear, "I know. _ Scandelacious_." She giggled. "What do you say we kiss and make up, hmm?" He leaned round her and planted a kiss quickly onto her pink mouth. Galinda pulled away and giggled again. He let her go; he'd made his point after all, and if anybody had seen him steal a kiss, well, that was how it was supposed to work. He looked at the park. All of them studying so earnestly. And he was so damn bored. "We need to get out of here," he announced. Various heads looked up. "I mean, really. What's the point?" He snatched Milla's book out of her hands. "Why do you study, Miss Milla?"

"So I can get a job," said Milla, grabbing the book back. "And because men want clever wives."

"Grades have nothing to do with your ability to get a job, and you know it." He waggled a finger at her in an imitation of his History professor. "It's about the way you're viewed. You need to be –"

"Popular," chirped Galinda.

"Exactly. And you, Miss Milla, know perfectly well someone will marry you even if you didn't go to college," said Fiyero. "Look, this isn't real life. This is completely fake. Doesn't that ever bother you?" He sighed. "These are supposed to be the best days of our lives and what are we doing? We're sitting in the sunshine reading _books_. There's more to life than this; we need to have some _fun_." He strode over the Boq and snatched the book out of his hands. "I mean, look at you: a respectable Munchkin farmer. Have you even considered – I don't know? – dancing instead of this?"

"Um, no?" said Boq.

"Well," said Fiyero. "You should." He tossed the book backwards and it landed, with an audible splash, in the Centennial Fountain. "Then you'll be able to celebrate your future as an Emerald City corn baron without embarrassing yourself. Culture, my friends, culture. You're learning the wrong lessons." He looked around again. Heads were lifting all over the lawn. Someone tried to fish the book out of the fountain. Fiyero let out a dramatic sigh. "Well, it seems that, once again, the duty of entertaining and corrupting his fellow students falls to me. Who wants some fun?" There were a few weak cheers. "I _said_, Who Wants some Fun!" Everyone yelled this time. "That's better." Fiyero held out a hand to Galinda and twirled her under his arm. She curtsied. "So," he said conversationally. "What's the most swankified place in town?"

---

They met at eight. He was on time; she was late. Just late enough that he and Avaric had to cool their heels in the dainty Crage lounge and mutter about girls. Then the girls came down the stairs and they stopped complaining. Galinda was wearing something very pink and a bit silly. Fiyero knew – because he made it his business to know things like this – that it had been on the cover of _Ozmopolitan_ last month and was _the_ dress to have. Miraculously, it suited her, but then, most things did. Avaric dug an elbow into his friend's ribs. "Fiyero, that _dress_. It's ridiculous."

"Not on her," said Fiyero thoughtfully. "She can pull it off."

"You _wish_," said Avaric, snorted, and went to kiss Shen-shen hello.

In retrospect, it was one of the most important moments of the years the three of them shared at Shiz. That night, relationships hardened into something definable and, in hindsight, Fiyero could see that he had walked into a future that was already decided for him from the third dance of the night on. At the time, however, it was merely…well, fun to begin with. Fiyero danced a courtesy dance with Galinda. Then one with some girl a year behind them. Then another with Galinda, who cuddled up to him under the coloured lights and fluttered thick blonde lashes at him. He kissed her because she seemed to expect it. Now was not the time to tell her that they were _not_ going to become the equivalent of Shavren (whatever that might be – Galindero? Filinda?), but he should probably get her aside for that chat later this evening. He was actually looking forward to it; he hadn't had a girlfriend in a while. Then he went sneaking over to the drinks table and ducked behind Boq. "Just move a little to the left, Munchkin," said Fiyero, maneuvering his friend sideways.

"What?" said Boq, and moved.

Fiyero pulled a small blue bottle out of his inside jacket pocket and upended it neatly into the punch. He gave it a stir, tasted the result, and laced the closest glass with a little more liquor. He put the glass into Boq's hand and thumped him. "You're a good man, Boq."

"What?" said Boq again, eyes fixed on Galinda. He heaved an enormous sigh and drifted off to the left window sconce where he was seen being polite to Miss Nessa.

"What's in the punch, indeed," said Avaric a little later, slinging an arm around Fiyero's shoulders. "Are you by any chance corrupting the daughter of an esteemed official? Albeit from a distance."

"How was I to know he'd give it to Nessa?" said Fiyero innocently. "It's not all that bad – here, taste."

Avaric sipped. "Whoof. Fiyero my lad, you've got a stronger head than I if that's your 'not bad.' What _is_ that stuff?"

Fiyero grinned. "Our factor in the Vinkus makes it. Don't ask out of what though; we call it Grass Whiskey, and that's all I'm allowed to divulge. It's good though, isn't it? Clears your head."

"Ra_ther_."

"Fiyero? Fiyero, will you get me something to drink?" Galinda took his arm and dimpled up at him. "I'm so thirsty, I could just _die_!" He tossed a mental coin, decided to be nice, and handed her a non-spiked drink. Avaric opened his mouth and then his face changed.

"Miss Galinda," he said in a strangled voice, "is that your _roomie_?"

Galinda looked up at the main stairway and squeaked. The Oz Dust was an underground room with a flashy green staircase leading down from the main doorway. By its very architecture it focused attention on the person who entered the room, especially if that person were late. And if she attracted attention by nature. And it was only worse if she happened to…match the décor.

It was embarrassing, to say the least. Galinda turned her face against his shoulder and whispered, "Oh, I'm so ashamed!"

Fiyero, staring at Elphaba Thropp Third Descending, clad in an extremely unflattering dress and a _most_ peculiar hat, put an arm about Galinda and said vaguely, "It's all right; nobody blames _you_."

"But it's my fault!" Galinda wailed, _sotto voce_.

"How?" said Fiyero, half horrified and half wickedly amused. He'd been brought up to behave properly, and the sight of someone _not_ behaving properly released a twitch of social _shaudenfreude_. How was she still standing there? And – no, she wasn't standing anymore. She was walking…down…the stairs. Towards them. What kind of upbringing instilled courage like that? Unnamed God knew Shiz students were a catty lot, mostly society brats trained to laugh at the unusual or out of line. It was ironic, really. Everyone had taught him that what he was supposed to be was an "original" in society, but, watching Elphaba, he realized that "original" was as carefully defined as non-original. He, Fiyero, was "original." Elphaba Thropp, walking down the stairs in that hat and funny dress was truly original, truly different. How the _hell_, Fiyero wondered, was she doing it? And what did it feel like, to have everybody looking at you, knowing you were wrong and they were right?

"I _gave_ her that hat! A few hours ago," Galinda moaned, her voice muffled by his sleeve. "I didn't think she'd actually _wear_ it!"

Miss Elphaba had reached the dance floor and was clearing the crowd more effectively than a group of Gale Forcers on the march. She stood in the middle of the room and cast a mutely furious glance at Galinda. The crowd around her and Fiyero parted as well. Then Elphaba began to dance. It was clear she sang a _lot_ better than she danced. A few people laughed. Boq smirked. Nessa went red, then white. Galinda's small frame stiffened and she said, "It is _so_ my fault." Then she let go of Fiyero's sleeve and walked out onto the dance floor. Elphaba, all tension and angles, was still going through her strange pattern of calisthenics. Galinda said, "May I?" and began to copy her.

Shiz stared. Blinked. Blinked again and wondered what was in the punch. Galinda Arduenna was on the dance floor across from her roommate and they were…they were dancing. Together. It was unheard of. It was mind-bogglingly, monumentally weird. And it was right. Galinda moved well and, trained to dance, she added a softness to Elphaba's bizarre lines that made them pretty. And that prettiness set the almost mathematical precision of Elphaba's dance into a perspective that improved it. Fiyero pushed past his staring classmates and made his way to the band-stand where the Oz Dust Orchestra sat staring. "Quick," Fiyero hissed. "Play something in three-four. Allegro moderato." He pushed coins into the conductor's hand. "_Now_!" Music started, miraculously in sync with the two girls. Suddenly what they were doing – whatever _that_ was – seemed a little more normal. The minute the song ended, Galinda grabbed Elphaba and dragged her off the dance floor.

"Oh, how _could_ you?" she wailed. "I thought I was going to _die_!" And she burst into tears and flung her arms around Elphaba's neck. "I didn't mean for you to _wear_ the hat, you silly girl!"

Elphaba stood very still. Finally, she raised both arms and patted Galinda's shoulders gingerly. "You know, Galoony, I quite like it."

"Really?" Galinda looked up. Then her eyes welled over again and she said, indistinctly, "No, you're just lying."

"No, I'm not. It really is," she smiled, faintly, "smart."

"Yes, you are so lying! And you have a p-p-p-perfect right to! Oh, Elphie, I'm a _horrible_ person, I truly am."

"No, no, really." Elphaba held Galinda out at arms length. "You can't blame yourself completely. Um. We've both been pretty horrible to each other, I think."

"I'm so sorry I called you an artichoke!" Galinda sniffed prettily. Fiyero cleared his throat and passed handkerchief over her shoulder. She applied it to her eyes with care, managing somehow to blot tears without ruining her makeup.

Elphaba flushed then. "I'm sorry – " she began, then looked down, shuffling her feet a little. "Um. I'm sorry," her words came out in a rush, "I'm sorry I called you a cupcake."

Fiyero laughed. He couldn't help it. Both girls looked at him. "I'm sorry," he said, trying to keep a straight face. "You did such a nice job making up, and I certainly don't want to ruin the end of a serious bout of roomie-hatred, but…" He looked at Elphaba. "Did you _really_ call her a cupcake?"

"Yes," said Elphaba stolidly. "She had on this pink dress with masses of skirts and a godawful sequined bodice. What else was I supposed to call her?"

"Pretty?" suggested Galinda.

"With _those_ shoulder bows? I should think not!"

"I'll have you know those shoulder bows were all the rage in the Emerald City. They were supposed to make you think of the china shepherdesses they make in Gillikin."

"They just made me think of scissors," said Elphaba. "As in, where are they, and can I use them on that monstrosity?"

Fiyero put a hand over his face. "I have to go," he said, indistinctly.

"Get me some punch, would you?" called Galinda.

"And _not_ the stuff you spiked," added Elphaba.

Fiyero threw up both hands and escaped to the cloakroom, where he could laugh until his stomach hurt.


	4. Sloughing It Off

**(A/N) **_This one is even more book-flavoured than usual. I hope you don't mind too much; I'm trying to teach myself to write fluff that isn't completely hook-up based (under the theory that, if I must write it, I might as well make it realistic). It it's too long/boring/repetitious, let me know. It's dedicated to anybody who has had to pull all-nighters and/or been sent into blind panic by a paper topic. And yes, Fiyero knows about clothes. He's a bit metro, don't we think? _

They threatened to throw him out the next term. It was a dismal, gloomy winter, and although Elphaba was rubbing off on Galinda – she was at times almost reasonable – Galinda was also rubbing off on Elphaba. Fiyero ran into Elphaba on one particularly miserable day, in an empty classroom. Her long hair was loose around her shoulders, and he paused in the doorway to look at her. He wondered if Galinda had told Elphaba that her hair was stunning; someone really ought to mention it to the girl as a common courtesy…Then he realized she was tossing it around like an Emerald City debutante. As if on cue she spun round and snapped, "What?" Clearly Galinda hadn't done anything for her temper.

Fiyero, put into a bad mood by fleeting attractiveness misused, looked her over more carefully and noted the (almost) matching jacket and skirt, and the pink rose tucked behind one ear. "You've been Galinda-fied," he snapped back.

"So?"

"So what suits _her_," he walked over to her and pulled the rose away, "doesn't suit _you_. I like the high neckline on the jacket, but do yourself a favour and throw out any skirt in your wardrobe that stops above your ankles. And don't wear white."

"Galinda made me buy this one," she said. "I can't just get rid of it."

"Galinda is petite, wears pumps, and has amazing legs; Nature has _designed_ her to wear bell-shaped skirts like that. You, on the other hand, need something floor-length. And, for Lurline's sake, girl, _not_ those boots. Ever."

"Oh, really?" Dark eyes raked his tousled jacket. "And what makes you an expert on clothes?"

He crossed his arms. "Interest. Plus, I really can't help knowing: the Mater dresses better than Galinda.."

"Impossible." She scowled at him, hands on hips.

"True. Look, not everybody has to giggle and flounce, you know."

"I'm just trying something new," said Elphaba haughtily. "_Some_ people have to make an effort to be pretty."

Fiyero stared at her. "_What_?" Had she just – just called him _pretty_? Never; it must have been a comparison with Galinda.

Elphaba snatched the rose out of his hand. "I have to go."

---

Dr. Martin could glare over the top of his spectacles. It was an interesting talent, Fiyero thought, then, with an effort, dragged his attention back to the talking-to he was receiving. "You're not cutting it, Mr. Tiggular," the teacher said coolly. "I'm giving you the weekend to rewrite this."

"Sir –" Fiyero began. There had been a reason Martin had given them three weeks to do this paper. He'd seen Boq with the books for this project – or rather, he hadn't; he'd seen a pile of ambulatory books with Boq's feet. He stopped. It wasn't worth it.

Martin looked at his student. "City boys. The day one of you lot graduates from this school, I will be _very _surprised." On the other side of the desk, Fiyero bristled. "I want more time and effort from you and if I don't get it you have my assurance that you will not be returning to our university for the Spring Term. _Do you understand_?"

Stung, Fiyero said only, "Yes, sir." He eased the door to Dr. Martin's office closed and involuntarily squeezed the paper held in his hand. Scrawled across the top in red ink was "Don't waste my time!" He didn't like Dr. Martin, but, dammit, Dr. Martin should like _him._ He'd never had trouble getting people to like him before. And, well, forget _that_. Fiyero was unreasonably angry. He'd had people tell him he wasn't cutting it before, of course. Madam Morrible's favourite, "I don't think you're up to it," was something people had been telling Fiyero Tiggular since the age of seven. Normally he ignored it. But for some reason – the weather, other people's moods, the after-Lurlinemas ennui – he was angry now. He didn't want to be told he wasn't good enough. He wanted to…he sank to the floor, his back against the wall. What did he want, when it came right down to it? _I want, I want, I want_. He shut his eyes. In a perfect world, what did he want?

He wanted to come back here in the spring. He wanted to be at Shiz for another year, investigating the restaurants in town and sitting through Dillamond's Life Sciences course. He wanted to graduate with Av and Shen and Galinda and Boq. He opened his eyes again. _Fine._ Then he stood up. "I'm going to do it," he announced to the closed door. "I am going to rewrite this paper, and you're going to be damn sorry you ever said any of that to me." His eyes narrowed. "I'll get you. Just wait."

---

Fiyero went straight to the second floor of the library, dumped his bag, and walked into the stacks. It took him most of Friday afternoon to decide what he needed; then he actually had to start reading. Around ten in the evening, he realized he couldn't put off eating any more, and went to the canteen. It was just closing, but he managed to get a bowl of lukewarm soup and the last of the bread. It would have to do, he supposed. Then he went back to Briscoe – without, Unnamed God curse it, his jacket, which he'd left in the library – and made himself a bottle of hot coffee. Only then did he go back to the library and start reading again. Even with the coffee, he fell asleep around three, his head pillowed on a long book about the early Royalists.

He woke up too early, with a crick in his neck. It was cold in the second floor reading room and the light coming through the window was dingy and grayish. Not, Fiyero thought, very conducive to good work. He read most of the day, fighting down swells of panic at the size of his task, despair that he'd never find what he needed, and an overwhelming suspicion that he had the wrong books anyway. He made a few trips to the canteen at odd times – avoiding people who might ask awkward questions on seeing him in yesterday's clothes – but, aside from that, stayed in the reading room. He fell asleep again after working out a plan, more or less, of what he wanted to say.

What woke him the second time was the rustling of paper. He opened his eyes and lifted a groggy head. "Wha-?" Elphaba Thropp was sitting in a chair on the opposite side of the table, shuffling his papers. "Are you," he demanded, "_correcting_ my essay?"

She glanced up at him, aloof and cool. He should have guessed she'd drop by – the library was her kingdom, after all. "You've been here over twenty-four hours," she said. "I wondered what might be motivating Fiyero 'Learn about the Unexamined Life' Tiggular to move into the library." She slid a sheaf of papers over the table to him. "I was curious. And yes, I did make a few notes in the margins." She had made more than a _few_ notes, he thought, trying to focus on the spiky writing up and down the sides of the paper. "And you seemed somewhat…" she paused and smiled faintly, "distressed." On the last sheet he had scribbled _I don't think I can do this_ in a moment of despair. Clearly nothing evaded her.

He scanned down her annotations. Move a paragraph, add a sentence or two of explanation, be more specific. "Look, thanks all the same, but I knew I had to do most of this," he said, wishing she would just…leave. Leave him alone with his own academic self-pity.

"If you knew it," said Elphaba, "then why didn't you do it?"

"Couldn't be bothered, I suppose."

"That's a pretty stupid way to deal with things."

"No, it's a value call," said Fiyero. He was tired, he was stressed, he didn't want to deal with her right now. "I choose how I spend my time, and you choose how you spend your time. But I'm not going to make you change your priorities, and you're damn well not going to lecture me on time management. All right. You've read my terrible prose and gone out of your way to tell me how terrible it really is. Now what?"

"I'm actually not sure my notes will do you any good," she said in a manner which was, for her, almost shy. "I don't really understand the terms you're using."

"Oh." Well, he was sure there were stranger things to do than explain his Linguistics paper to Elphaba, although he couldn't think of any of them right now. "Here's the question proper."

She took the paper and read, "_Comment on the change from virtue names to abstract in the late Third House (1127-1256)_. Fiyero, my concentration is Sorcery with an emphasis on Life Sciences. I don't know what this means."

"Um." He pushed the hair of out his face. "Virtue names are when you name someone, um, after a virtue. They're very uncommon nowadays; the maunts use them but I think they're the only ones. You know: Sister Apothecary, Sister Cook, Silence, Candle. The Ozmas used them as well; Ozma Bilious, Ozma Gloriosis, that lot." Fiyero yawned. "Abstract names are what we have: names that just sound like a lot of syllables. Of course, most names do have a history, it's just that no one bothers to learn them. I bet you don't know where your name came from, do you?"

"As a matter of fact, I do," said Elphaba smugly. "St. Aelphaba, legendary hermit who sat behind the waterfall and ate grapes while she meditated. A curious story, but my father was insistent that Nessa and I understand our history."

"Ah, your father's a Linguist," said Fiyero and grinned. "Well, I'd bet _most_ people here don't know the background for their names." He stretched. "Boq, for example. Ancient Munchkin name; one of the Founding Fathers was named Boq. I think it's originally some kind of lettuce. Or…" he searched his brain. "Avaric - "

"Early Unionist preacher who converted half of Gillikin," said Elphaba and smiled when he looked at her. "I told you, my father is very fond of the Unionists."

"Clearly. And Galinda is a variant of Glinda, the Messenger of the Unnamed God. There are quite a few theorists," he gestured at the book pile, "who think that Glinda was a tie-in with the pagan legends, and that she was a sort of lesser Lurline figure at one point; some kind of star goddess. Then she snuck into the Unionist liturgy when no one was looking."

"What about your name?" said Elphaba.

"Hmm? Oh. Fiyero. It's been in the family for centuries, but he was originally a thirteenth century Vinkus political martyr."

"That's funny; I've never heard of him." _Hello,_ thought Fiyero. _I know something she doesn't_.

"The Unionists don't like him much; that's probably why you've never heard of him. They think he was an adulterer and regicide."

"Oh, really?" Elphaba leaned her elbows on the table. "So why are you named after him?"

"We don't think he was…that bad. They still had arranged marriages then; poor fellow was probably pushed off on a plump illiterate at the age of seven. And neither of them would have had any choice in the matter – you can be sure of that. If he found somebody he liked better, well, I'm not going to blame him for wanting to have a little fun."

Elphaba snorted. "A little fun, indeed. Another reason why marriage is a stupid institution." She blinked. "I – the age of _seven_?"

"Yes; it's a tribal thing. Get them tied up before they get rebellious. Don't worry – it wasn't like it was consummated until they were of age." Fiyero studied her across the table. "You don't believe in marriage? But I thought your father – Hell, Nessa…"

"Just because they're believers doesn't mean I am," said Elphaba. "Have I shocked you?"

"Yes. No. Most girls seem to think marriage is a good idea," said Fiyero. "But given this _is_ you, Miss Elphaba, I suppose I shouldn't be surprised."

"…because, of course, I'm not like _most girls_," finished Elphaba.

He began, a little embarrassed, "No, I didn't mean – "

"Never mind; I've heard it often enough." She looked down at the table and tapped her fingers experimentally. Then she looked up again and tipped her head to one side. "Regicide?"

"Well, attempted. Maybe." Fiyero grinned. "No one's sure."

"But you said –"

"It's all about connotation."

"That's why I like Sciences," said Elphaba a little irrelevantly. "When you say something, it is. It's the same with Sorcery; power needs exact words. There's none of this fuzzy abstract in the middle."

"Well, history is _all_ the fuzzy abstract," said Fiyero. "Anyway. Fiyero was born during the reign of – uh – Ozma Vainglorious. She attacked the Vinkus eight times in twenty years, but never managed to actually subdue them. Her successor, Ozma Posthumous, declared that she was going to carry out Vainglorious's campaigns, and, kind of amazingly, did. There was a lot of unrest after the formal annexation and we don't really know this for sure, but the assumption was that Fiyero was involved with one of the rebel groups trying to oust the Royalists. Anyway, somebody killed the man and his family made him out to be a martyr. The Unionists, who were already staunch Royalists at that point, launched a counter attack and put him down as an adulterous terrorist." Fiyero shrugged. "Guess which image stuck?"

"Hmph," said Elphaba. "I think it's rather silly."

"Sillier than St. Aelphaba and her grapes?"

"Oh, all right. So what exactly are you writing your paper on, then?"

"The change from virtue names to abstract," said Fiyero. "The Third House started a lot of the rituals attached to royalty including the virtue-based Ozma titles. And as virtue names became more, um, ceremonial, abstract names became more common. I think it got to the point where you'd name your little girl Sulli instead of Memory because it felt faintly blasphemous to holler, 'Memory!' out the back door when you needed her." He yawned until his jaw cracked. "And then there's this guy's theories," he fished out a blue book and pushed it across the table, "on abstract names. I'd love to get him in there, but I'm not sure I can manage it."

"F.E. Weibolt. What does he have to say?"

"Apparently our concept of abstract isn't abstract enough," said Fiyero. "He thinks that names can be broken down into phonetic syllables and that the sounds themselves , irrelevant of meaning, are enough to express meaning in a name. Right; that didn't make a lot of sense. He's kind of a mystic." Fiyero pushed some papers around and found his notes. "It's an identification thing: everyone ends up with the name their personality demands." Elphaba snorted. "Yeah, I know. He's crazy. But it's interesting taking names down to their essence."

"What do you mean?"

"Well," Fiyero searched for the right name. "Well, Boq, for instance. It's a solid, monosyllabic name. Suggests someone who's, um, solid. Stubborn, a bit myopic, maybe. Or, I don't know, Galinda?"

"Galinda," said Elphaba. "Galinda, Galinda, Galinda…You know, that's funny."

"What?"

"It's impossible to say her name without smiling."

"Is it?" Fiyero laughed. "Hang on – Galinda. Galinda." He laughed again. "I think you're right. What is it? Three syllables. Ga-lin-da. The middle "I" pulls your mouth into a smile, and it kind of yanks the whole word up."

"Strange," said Elphaba. "It really does suit her, though."

"Yes. It's that middle "I"; it sort of makes the name…sparkle." He drew patterns in the margin of his notes. "Hmm…Fi-yer-o. Fiiiiiyeeeeeeeeroooooo." He grinned at her. "Lots of vowels – they make it a lot longer than it needs to be."

"The pronunciation's funny though."

"What do you mean?"

"Oh." Elphaba shrugged. "Galinda calls you FiYERo, with the accent on the middle syllable, but Dr. Lacey rhymed it with 'hero'. I was wondering which one it was supposed to be."

"Either, really." He thought for a minute. "If you say it with a Vinkus accent, it would probably rhyme with hero, but they're the only people who'd say it that way. I think Dr. Lacey was probably trying to show off. The Parents call me Yero as in "yerrow" so I guess Galinda's right."

"And we can say that you're ambivalent," said Elphaba thoughtfully. "You're flexible between two cultures; you love one because it's your home and your history and your tradition, and the other because you're brought up to it socially."

"What? Oh, I'm not really Vinkus, _really_. I just go hunting there sometimes. Most Vinkus culture is sort of – something the old people do. We live in the North and really, we're practically Gillikinese, my people."

"Hmm," said Elphaba. "I don't believe you. You carry Grass Whiskey all the time, and you know more about Vinkus history than _me_. And what have you got on your wrists?"

Fiyero had his shirt-sleeves rolled up and, vivid blue on the inside of his wrists, were tattooed diamonds. "Those?" He ran one hand through his untidy hair, feeling a little self-conscious. "It's an Arjaki thing. Um. Kind of like, I guess, baptism into the tribe. Used to be they'd be all over the warriors, but most people don't bother with more than wrists nowadays. Takes too long for one thing, and hurts like the blazes to get them done."

"There you go again," said Elphaba critically. "You certainly know a lot about the culture for someone who isn't really a part of it."

"Well, I am and I'm not. But more not – I'm a city brat like Avaric, really. That's it."

"Your name suggests otherwise, scholar," said Elphaba. She tilted back in her chair. "What about mine?"

"Your name?" Fiyero said it a few times, experimentally. "_Elphaba_. It's a composite too; fricatives and plosives."

"What are they?"

"Fricatives are the soft sounds, like the "s" in Nessa, or the second half of my name. Plosives are hard consonants. Say the word – it's a plosive in itself. And your name has these hard sounds on the syllables, but softer vowels in the middle." He glanced up at her. "Residual sweetness, Elll-phaa-baaa. Angry and scared; defensive and intimidated. You would appear, my very dear Miss Thropp, to be a contradiction."

She looked down at the table-top, face hidden. "No one's ever done that with my name before," she said to the table. "Father and Nessa call me Fabala, like my real name is too long."

"Erk," said Fiyero. "I don't like that at all; far too awkward."

"Mm. Galinda calls me Elphie."

"Kind of perky."

"Somewhat. But no one's ever said my name like – like that."

"I see. Does it make a difference?"

Elphaba finally looked up. "I don't know," she said. "I'll tell you if I have any life-changing experiences in the next few hours."

"You do that." She stood up and hovered, a little nervously. "_Elphaba_," said Fiyero again. "It's a nice name; rolls off the tongue well. Not like mine, where you get caught up in gooey vowels. _Elphaba. _Quite pretty, really."

"Good luck with your paper," said Elphaba abruptly, and hurried out of the room. Fiyero shrugged and flipped open Weibolt.

---

He made it back to his room at four on Monday morning but was by that point shaking from far too much caffeine and far too little sleep. His hand ached abominably and he felt sick. So he sat by the window and stared at the sky and thought about syllables and abstract naming and personality until the sun rose, at which point he bathed and shaved and put on clean clothes. He felt like something dead trying to pass for human. He gave Martin the paper at the end of the first lecture and went straight from class to the Shiz train station.

He came back ten days later, smelling of smoke and foreign perfume and nursing the mother of all hangovers. By sheer coincidence, it was the first day of exams and he sat the Mathematics cold. He didn't know why he'd bothered, actually, considering they were going to throw him out anyway. Afterwards, he went to his room to nurse his head, but found that Avaric had locked the door. From the sounds of things, he was entertaining Shen-shen, a monumentally stupid thing to do, even during exams when the duty-teachers were more absent-minded than usual. He stumbled down the hall and tapped on Boq's door. The Munchkin opened it and said, "Sweet Oz. What happened to _you_?"

"I went out and got debauched," said Fiyero. "Can I lie down in here?"

"Oh, so that's what happened. I thought you'd just had a panic session in the middle of Math. Sure; come in. What wrong with yours?"

"Shavren." He dropped onto Boq's bed and put the pillow over his head.

"The Morrible's looking for you," said Boq, shutting the door quietly.

"That's nice," said Fiyero from under his pillow.

"I have never," announced Boq, "seen anything as funny as the sight of that woman's face when you walked into the examining hall this morning. Absolutely flabbergasted."

"Mmmph."

"So, where were you?"

"Away," said Fiyero, then groaned. "Get me some water, would you?"

"Yes, sir." He felt a cool glass pushed into his hand. "If you were there, why did you come back?"

"No money." Fiyero raised his head to take a sip of the water. "And my ticket home was here, along with all my stuff." He dropped his head again. "You probably won't see me next term, you know."

"I wouldn't be so sure," said Boq. "Martin's been raving about you ever since you, uh, left."

"Raving is Martin's normal state of existence."

"No, in a good way. Thinks you're wonderful."

"Clearly," said Fiyero, "I am still drunk. Martin can't stand me."

"Well, he can now."

"Boq, you are entirely too cheerful. Shut up, and let me recover."

---

He recovered soon enough, and spent a great deal of time refusing to tell anyone where he had been (the Emerald City), who he had been with (various members of the Wiz-o-Mania chorus line), what he was doing (getting stinking drunk and sleeping with chorus girls), or why he was doing it (unadulterated boredom and frustration with the scholastic system). They threatened to throw him out. He nodded, and went back to Boq's room.

He then spent most of his holiday waiting for the familiar letter of expulsion to arrive. As he well knew, they all looked the same except for the changing crests, and they all sounded the same. He was surprised, to say the least, when it didn't come and he found himself back on the train for Spring Term at Shiz.


	5. At Ease with Moral Ambiguities

**(A/N) **_Firstly, I appreciate all of your reviews very much. And secondly, a word of explanation, since people asked: any theory I may have expounded in the last chapter is not true in that no one has written a book on it (F.E. Weiboldt doesn't exist, nor does any theory of virtue and abstract naming, though the name "virtue names" was taken from Melissa Scott's "Five Twelfths of Heaven"). However, you will find that most fictional characters do have names that suit their personalities if you take the names down to syllables. Some, like Candle, even have straight-forward symbolic names. This is something I noticed while being taught by an over-enthusiastic drama teacher, and now creeps into most of my fics; I'm glad you liked it. Regarding this chapter: I have an embarrassing fondness for slapstick. I also don't own character, situation, the reference to ivy covered professors/ivy covered walls (which is really Tom Lehrer) or the line about grass and wet feet at the end of the penultimate section (which I adapted from Brian Friel's play Translations. I love it…err, the phrase and the play). I rather enjoy sharing space in Fiyero's head, though. He's a nice guy in his own way. Finally, gentle readers, a chapter whose title does NOT begin with the letter "s." _

It was like coming home, only in reverse. The Shiz campus loved the spring; Fiyero remembered that from last year. It was always pretty, with the ivy-covered professors strolling between ivy-covered walls, and here and there a student to break up the monotony. But in the spring, the campus outdid itself in a riot of buds and new flowers and bright, clean grass, all made clearer by light and blue sky. It was as though all of Shiz had made itself pretty while the students had been elsewhere. He swung off the train and stared up at the sky, happy to be back, happy to be alive.

"Fiyero!" Galinda waved.

He dragged his trunk over and hugged her, breathing in her rose perfume. "Mmmm…" he said, nuzzling her hair. "You're all springy."

"Don't do that." She giggled. "You'll spoil the angle of my hat."

"I'll do more than that," he said, laughing, and grabbed her, spinning her around in a circle before putting her down again. "How've you been, Miss Arduenna?"

"Oh, fine. I had a nice quiet break, really. You?"

He shrugged. "All right. Spent most of my time thinking I'd get expelled, actually. And – stuff."

"Stuff?"

"Family things."

"Oh. Well I do hope everything's – here, let's get that carriage!" She waved enthusiastically and the carriage man climbed down to load their trunks.

They met in the main quad again; Tibbett and Crope were there already, telling dirty jokes. Galinda, her hat set straight again, was talking to a few other girls. Fiyero came over, pulled her hair, and gave a theatrical start at the black silhouette standing near the Centennial Fountain. He put one finger over his lips and advanced towards Elphaba, who had her back to him and was apparently flipping through one of her large armful of books.

Fiyero pounced, grabbing her around the waist with one arm and snatching the funny pointy hat off with the other. "I've _got_ you, my pretty!" He crowed.

Elphaba's response was quick. She jabbed an elbow backwards into his stomach and spun round. One hand thwacked his chest and knocked him off-balance, reeling backwards. His calves bumped into the rim of the Centennial Fountain and he went over, falling with a splash into the water.

Galinda squeaked and put a hand over her mouth. "Oh my goodness! Elphaba…?"

Fiyero sat up and glanced at the water falling around him. He reached sideways and produced a waterlogged black hat. "Yours, I believe?" He held it out to Elphaba.

She was watching him, her lips quivering as she tried not to smile. "Thank you," she said gravely, and took the hat. She placed it on the ground.

Fiyero's hand remained outstretched. "Would you mind?" He waggled his fingers. "You get me in here; you might as well get me out."

"All right." Elphaba took the offered hand and looked down at him. Their eyes met. It was silent, the watchers riveted by the sight of Fiyero Tiggular in the fountain. Fiyero felt a sudden rush of heat from those slim fingers resting between his own. He grinned, and pulled, and Elphaba toppled forward into the fountain. "I – Unnamed God eat your corpse, Fiyero! That was _not fair_!" Elphaba scowled. She splashed him.

He splashed back. "Now, now, Miss Elphaba. One good turn deserves another, we always say."

"We do?" With supreme self-possession, Elphaba leaned over, pushed him backwards into the water again. "Not in my family, we don't." Then she stepped out of the fountain and squelched off towards Crage. Shen-shen started to giggle, and was joined by an avalanche of laughed from everybody else. Fiyero sighed and scrambled out, where he made a great play of wringing out his sleeves and hair.

"Good to be back," he said sourly, grabbing Avaric's jacket from the ground and ignoring his friend's complaints.

---

It was not going to be such a nice term though. Three weeks in, he overslept and found himself in the familiar position of running from Briscoe to Life Sciences at 8:27 in the morning. He slipped into the hall and dropped into the only available seat which was, unfortunately, at the front next to Elphaba. Oh well, he thought. He could duck when she raised her hand. Dr. Dillamond gave Fiyero the same severe look he'd been giving the boy for a year or so. It didn't have any effect, but Fiyero suspected that it made the Goat feel better.

"_If_ we are all here," said Dr. Dillamond, "We will commence – or rather, I should say continue – our discussion of the life-cycle of the Owl-Wing Perch Bird." Elphaba was already scribbling. Fiyero was not, which was why he saw the three men in trenchcoats walk by the window. He craned to see where they were going; there was something familiar about those coats. He lost them as they went around the corner, and he refocused on Dr. Dillamond, though Fiyero had no idea what the professor was saying anymore.

"Fiyero Tiggular," said Dr. Dillamond at the end of class, "stay after a moment, would you."

"Sir," said Fiyero vaguely, and leaned against his desk while the Goat tided his lesson plans. Elphaba lingered over packing her books.

"I take it, Mr. Tiggular, that the Owl-Wing Perch Bird does not interest you?"

"Sir? Oh, I am sorry, sir," said Fiyero. "I was…distracted."

"For an entire lecture. I realize," said Dr. Dillamond, "that you have trouble sitting still through a standard class period, but you seemed a bit jumpy this morning, even for yourself."

"I beg your pardon. It won't happen again."

Someone knocked on the door. "Come in," said the professor.

"You are Doctor Egus Dillamond, Goat and Sandlan Chair Professor of Shiz University?" said one of three men on the other side of the door.

"Yes."

The man nodded briefly and the two behind him moved forward, flanking Dr. Dillamond. "Emerald City Commission. We'd like to have a word with you, Doctor," said the main man. Fiyero swallowed. They were the three he'd seen in trenchcoats earlier today. Elphaba was standing and Fiyero could hear her breathing, quick and uneven. He didn't know how he knew, but he did, he just _knew_ that she was going to do something stupid. He grabbed her arm, holding her tightly. She glanced at him and he shook his head. "Who're these?" said the speaker.

"Two of my students who were, unfortunately, a little inattentive this morning," said Dr. Dillamond. Elphaba shifted, annoyed at being censured when she hadn't done anything wrong, and Fiyero squeezed her arm. The Goat nodded at them, saying sharply, "You may go, but mind it doesn't happen again, or it'll be detention for you both."

"Sir." Fiyero inclined his hand, grabbed his books, and dragged Elphaba out of the room. Galinda was standing in the hall doing something to her hair. When they came out, she grabbed Elphaba's other arm and pulled her down into the main quad.

"Fiyero!" Elphaba yanked away from him as soon as she could. Galinda held on.

"Quiet," he said shortly. "Get away from them, all right?"

"What happened?" Galinda asked.

"Three ECC spooks came in to talk to Dr. Dillamond."

Galinda's eyes went wide. "Oooooh. Elphie, you didn't do anything stupid, did you?"

"She almost did," Fiyero growled.

"What were you doing?" Elphaba demanded when they'd reached the canals. "I have a half a mind to push you in again, just for doing that. _Both_ of you. You…you coward! We could have done something, and you make us _leave_?"

Fiyero couldn't face Elphaba angry, but Galinda could. "Elphaba, that was the ECC! They're _scary_. They might have arrested you! And, I mean, you already have a record, and Fiyero's, well, he's related to important people; if they'd thought for a minute you cared about Dillamond and whatever he's done –"

"We do care about him! And he hasn't _done_ anything!" Elphaba snapped at Galinda. "They're going to drag him away just because he's an Animal!"

Galinda had a stubborn look on her face. "Elphie, how do you know that? Maybe he _has_ done something…and, I mean, they're the Wizard's people. The Wizard's the _good guy_." Galinda put her hands on Elphaba's shoulders. "Elphie," she peered anxiously up at her friend. "Elphie? Calm down. Look, if you'd have complained, you'd have been dragged in for questioning, prob'ly. I mean," she guided Elphaba to the ground, where she sat hugging her knees and glaring at the water. Fiyero sat on the other side of Galinda and rubbed his hands together, staring at the dense blue of the canal. "They'd have let Fiyero go eventually because of his parents, and Morrible would've got you out, but it's not exactly something you want to have happen."

"She's right," said Fiyero. "You really, _really_ don't want to go getting arrested."

Elphaba scowled at him. "How could you, Fiyero? How could you just stand aside like that? You _know_ what's going to happen to Dr. Dillamond."

"I have a few guesses."

"Then how can you not _act_?" She was crying now, angry, ugly tears.

"He did act," said Galinda. "He got you both out of there before the scary guy tried to arrest you. He _saved_ you."

"I'd rather do without that kind of salvation, thanks."

Fiyero began shredding grass and tossing it into the water. "And, Elphaba…what if Galinda's right? What if Dr. Dillamond has been disobeying the law?"

"That's not true!" She put her chin on her knees. "You _know_ that, Fiyero, Galinda. You _know_ he wouldn't break the law."

"Are you sure?" whispered Galinda.

"He did want us to leave, you know. There was something he didn't want us to hear; that's why he said what he did about detention."

"It's horrible what they're doing, and _nobody_ tries to stop them!" Elphaba gave a defiant sniff and stood up. "I'm going back there. If they try to hurt him, I'll…I'll…I'll do something, anyway. And you can't stop me."

"Elphie!" Galinda scrambled to her feet and grabbed the other girl. "If you go back there, the only thing that'll happen is that you'll go to Southstairs."

"So? At least I'll have done _something_." She twisted away and began walking back towards campus.

"Elphaba…" Fiyero sighed. He was going to say more, but a large purple shape materialized from one of the administration buildings. Morrible. Fiyero inched away, out of view around the nearest corner. The Headmistress made him nervous, especially since last term. Galinda gulped, then waved cheerfully. "My dear girl, what _is_ the matter?"

"They're – I – Dr. Dillamond," stuttered Elphaba.

"Oh, yes. The old Goat," said Madame Morrible in tones not entirely complimentary. "But, for goodness sake, girl, what has he done to make you this upset?"

"Three men came into our lecture today, and they…"

"Oh, _those_ men. Galinda, dear, don't you have a lecture?"

Galinda produced a dazzling smile from somewhere. "Of course I do, Madame. But Elphie was_ so_ upset and I was sure Miss Greyling wouldn't mind if I…um…Anyway, now she's with you, she'll be fine, won't she?"

The Morrible placed a hand on Elphaba's back. "Of course she will. Do run along." Galinda went. Fiyero, who couldn't figure out a way to escape without attracting attention, stayed. Madame Morrible was saying, "They only came to offer him a job, dear." She chuckled. "You do have a _most_ overactive imagination."

"He's going to leave?"

"Yes," said Madame Morrible. "And he will certainly be missed. But a little…relocation…is to be expected in academia. If I were you, I wouldn't worry."

"They said they were ECC," muttered Elphaba stubbornly. "And the ECC doesn't offer _jobs_."

"How do you know?" Madame Morrible's voice was surprisingly sharp. "Now, look, Miss Elphaba. I realized you're somewhat distressed, and that's only natural, but it's not the end of the world. And if you really believe there's a problem, you'll be able to deal with it once you graduate. The Wizard continues to express some interest in your progress, you know."

Elphaba looked up at her teacher. "Really?"

"Really. You're going to be _important_." Madame Morrible pushed open the door to the administration building, and Fiyero caught the end of her lecture trailing off. "People _listen_ to you, dear, even now. Think of what'll happen when you're a legitimate part of government. You have such potential…I'd _hate_ to see you throw it away on some quixotic ideal…"

---

Elphaba said no more about Dr. Dillamond's disappearance – and disappearance it was, too, for no one saw him again. Madame Morrible introduced Professor Tiramis as the replacement and was so impressive that no one dared question. And since Tiramis was far less astringent than his predecessor – and quite nearsighted – no one really complained. Elphaba said nothing, but she spoke very little to Fiyero for the next ten days. Galinda said only that her roommie was reading a lot. Fiyero shrugged and got down to some serious socializing. He also wrote his Linguistics composition on time and well; Madame Morrible's temper was contagious, and Fiyero had a feeling in his gut that if he were to anger Martin again, he would be out of Shiz faster than he could say Ozma Vainglorious.

Two months into the term, Professor Tiramis seemed to be, for once, happy to see them. Fiyero was late again, and had to make due with a front seat, although at least this one wasn't next to Elphaba, who appeared to be sulking. Tiramis beckoned in a few older students, who put down a medium-sized wire box and then retreated. "Now t-t-this," said their professor, shoving his spectacles up his nose, "is s-something new, instituted by our d-d-dear Wizard. It is c-c-called, ladies and gentlemen, a c-c-cage. It is meant, of c-c-course, to restrain animals, or even Animals."

Boq looked queasy. Elphaba, in Fiyero's peripheral vision, looked chartreuse. Fiyero remembered that when Nessa was embarrassed (fairly frequently), or angry (almost never), she turned a shade of brick red and then white. He wondered if Elphaba did the same thing, in her own way. "And this is a lion. C-c-can you all s-see?" Fiyero looked at the pale golden creature in the box. He'd hunted lions before, but he'd never seen a cub. It was shaved, pathetically maneless, and he wondered if it was supposed to be shaking like that. Elphaba put her hand up.

"Y-yes, Miss Elphaba?"

"Can you take it out?" It sounded as if she were trying very hard to hold her temper.

"N-n-now, now, Miss Elphaba!" Tiramis shook a finger at her. "This is a d-d-dangerous b-beast. We c-c-can't be d-d-doing things like that."

"Dangerous? He's _terrified_!" Elphaba had stood to ask her question, and was still standing, though her fingers were clenching the edge of her desk. She had gone very pale; a sort of sludgy colour. "Look at him shiver."

"He's quite f-friendly." Tiramis tapped the cage. The lion gave a constrained yelp and snapped at the old professor's fingers, then retreated to the other side of the cage. Tiramis gave a rather larger yelp and yanked his hand away, slapping the cage as he did. "N-n-n-now, Miss, p-p-please take your s-s-seat…" He turned and waved. One of the students came back. "G-g-get rid of it, d-d-do."

Elphaba was still standing. Fiyero heard her make a noise like water sizzling on a hot stove, and then…then came something he couldn't describe properly. It was as though there were lights going off all around him, flashing hot white into sudden darkness. They left funny trails in his vision that twisted themselves into elaborate knots and patterns, throwing the regular definitions of up, down and sideways into confusion. Fiyero felt incredibly disorientated for a moment. He grabbed the edge of his desk, hoping for something solid. What he got was something sharp, as his pen-knife dug into the side of his hand. He swore, but the pain, he found, cleared his head. Hand in his mouth, he looked around the room and realized that it was still intact, and that what he was seeing was only light.

Only light? All right; maybe not. The air felt sticky, heavy, charged like the storms over the Thousand Year Grasslands, he'd seen building into massive thunderheads a mile away. But when the air felt like this, the storms were considerably closer than a mile…Fiyero, a practiced hunter, looked for the source of the storm, and found it very close indeed. The other members of the class were frozen in awkward positions, mouths open or hands hanging midair. The lion cub seemed unharmed, pressed against the bars of its cage and shivering. The other person unaffected was Elphaba. She was very still, skin lit an unearthly green by the white light blooming from her cupped hands. Her hair stood up in a vast black auriole around her head, and her eyes glittered in the light. Her face too – Fiyero realized, with a jolt, that she was crying, shaking with sobs as she held fire. He kicked his chair over to get to her, to grab her, to slap her, to make her stop…the charged, sticky feeling was worse closer to her. He found that didn't really want to touch her after all. So instead he yelled. "Elphaba? You in there? Stop it, y'hear me!"

"I can't," she sobbed. The light shot up towards the ceiling, forming a funnel of spinning incandescence. "I can't help it; I haven't got any control over it!"

"Well nobody else is going to stop it for you," Fiyero pointed out, backing away from the twister. "Look, you're the Morrible's star sorcery student. You're _Elphaba Thropp_. Don't tell me there's something you can't do!"

"You don't understand; I _can't_!" But the look on her face turned into a determined glare and she curled her hands. The twister collapsed into a shower of white that fell around the two of them and the lion like fireworks. It pulsed a few times and faded to a glow. The pressure diminished noticeably, though Elphaba's hair still stood up and she remained illuminated by brilliant light.

"That's better," said Fiyero, letting out breath he didn't realize he'd been holding. "What the hell were you doing?"

"I don't know," she said again. "I can't help it; it's – it happens when I lose my temper."

"Right," said Fiyero. "I didn't think there was a way to make you more scary than you already were, but possibly I need to, um, reassess that opinion." He walked carefully to the front of the room. "Just don't do it to me, all right?" He picked up the cage. Elphaba stood where she was, hands in fists at her sides. "Well?" He looked at her. "Come on, then."

The light went out abruptly, and the room was black. Something blundered into Fiyero's shoulder. "Good enough," he muttered and dived for the door. Fortunately, he was aiming for the right part of the wall.

They ran like crazy people, out of the main quad, through the soggy playing fields, over the canal bridge, and then into the outskirts of the town. Finally, out of breath, they stopped. "What do we do now?" Fiyero demanded. He leaned against the nearest tree, out of breath

"I don't know." Elphaba dropped to her knees by the cage. "You poor thing; you must be so frightened. Don't worry…we're trying to help you."

"I guess we should let it go?"

"Here? Don't be stupid; you'll just kill it." She glared at him.

"You're welcome too," said Fiyero shortly. "I'll just leave you to do deal with this, shall I?" He turned and began walking towards the school. He sighed. His shoes, once white, were now liberally glass-stained and mud-brownish. They wouldn't recover. He wondered if one of the little cafes was open and what the chances were that he would be able to get a good lunch. Or late breakfast, really. He sure as hell deserved one.

"No, wait…" Elphaba grabbed his hand. He turned.

"Yes?"

"I'm – I'm sorry I yelled at you." She looked down at their hands, green fingers holding tanned brown and said, in a small voice, "Thank you." Then she looked up again and let go of his hand as though burned. He followed her back to the cage. "I can't figure out what to do with him. Can you?"

Fiyero crouched down next to the cage and rested his fingers against the bars. "Hello there, little fellow," he said to the lion. "I can't think – Wait. I wonder," he looked over at her. "I might be able to do something."

"Really?" The breathy gasp was pure Galinda. Fiyero snorted; Elphaba giggled.

"Yes, really. No promises, though."

"I wasn't asking for one," said Elphaba simply. She paused, then reached out to touch his hand. "You're bleeding?"

"Oh, yeah." The cut from his pen-knife was cheerfully ruining his shirtsleeve. "My fault, actually."

"Oh." She smiled that slightly ironic, crooked smile. "You're wrong, you know."

"About what?" Fiyero stood up, taking the cage in one hand.

"You're a genuinely kind person." Fiyero raised an enquiring eyebrow. "Genuine" was not a word that was used in conjunction with himself very often. "I'm serious. You did something back there. You helped." She straightened her hat and gave him an arch glance. "So much for your pretense."

"Pretense?" said Fiyero. "Hey, hey, hey. There _is_ no pretense here. I am genuinely shallow and _deeply_ self-absorbed. I swear."

"I don't believe you."

"I don't believe _you_," said Fiyero. The silence lengthened, curled back on itself like a dreaming animal. "I'd better go," he added, abruptly. "The grass is soaking; your feet must be wet."

"Mmm," said Elphaba vaguely, staring fixedly at a point somewhere to the left of his head. "My feet are soaking; the grass must be wet."

---

Fiyero took the lion cub and went to the park. He wanted swans – Swans for preference, but their dumb kin could still listen – under the theory that one animal might be able to help another better than a couple of confused humans could do.

The Shiz Public Park was a badly-designed town gem. Fiyero, used to the immaculate grounds of Kiamo Eiver, had spent a good deal of time wanting to shoot the person who had created the Shiz Public Park. Sadly, he'd died before Fiyero was born. The pond was in the back of the park, hard to find and well-protected by a miniature forest of imported Gillikin evergreens. Most walkers preferred the lighter areas, with clean-mown lawns and convenient benches. Fortunately it was a particularly gloomy day, overcast and sullen and threatening to continue the before-dawn rain that had left the grass so wet. And so there was no one out taking the air ever in the nicer part of the park. Fiyero hurried along the raked gravel paths with no more than a cursory scowl at the flashy flower-beds. He left the paths near the statue of yet another Shiz burgher and cut through the little pine forest, feet crunching on old needles. At least it wasn't wet here.

There was no one at the pond either, when he reached it. He put the lion cage down and pulled off his shoes and socks. The water was a forbidding navy blue in the overcast half-light, twice filtered through cloud and the oppressive pines that curtained the pond off from the rest of the park. Floating on the top of the water were the graceful shapes of swans. Fiyero sighed. He looked at the lion. "I really, really hope you appreciate this," he told it. "Hang in there, anyway." Then he stood up and walked into the water till the blue lapped mid-thigh. Then, breathing slowly, he forced himself to ignore the cold and stand perfectly still. Experience with animals had taught him to let them approach first, even if you were the one who wanted the favour. Eventually one of the white shapes drifted closer to him and a large swan, wings strong enough to break a man's arm, eyed him. It hissed, quizzically.

Fiyero made a side movement with his neck – the closest he could get to swan gestures – and said, "Greetings." The swan twisted its own neck and stayed where it was. It would listen, he supposed. "I – I am Fiyero Tiggular, Prince of the Arjaki Peoples and Lord-Apparent of Kiamo Eiver and Kiamo Ko." He hated his full name with titles, but swans were among the few animals that insisted on them, and liked to be given human honorifics of their own. "I greet you in my own name, and that of the Lord and Lady Esgaar of Kiamo Eiver. I - " There were more swans watching him now, and they drifted closer as he spoke. The beady yellow eyes were off-putting. Chloe had once told him that humans were intimidated by animals because humans blinked and animals didn't. He thought she was probably right. "I ask a favor. Will you listen?" Asking questions outright was usually a good idea with most Birds because they didn't have the attention span to haggle.

A crowd of at least twelve, probably more, swans watched him now. Finally, a voice spoke out of the cluster of feathers. It was unclear which swan was actually a Swan; all Fiyero could perceive was a high, reedy voice speaking from nowhere. An eerie voice that spoke for all the swans as a collective, he supposed. It said, "I know the Lord and Lady Esgaar, and they speak well of you, Prince Fiyero. You may ask."

"I brought with me a young lion, who is on the shore. He's in a cage." The white mass moved threateningly. "I didn't put him there," Fiyero said quickly. "I – I'm a student at the University and one of my professors did. I have a," he paused. What was Elphaba? A classmate? An associate? "a friend who feels very strongly about animal and Animal rights and she rescued the lion cub."

"Why do _you_ bring it then?" The voice had little emotion, though what it did have was questioning, not angry.

"We took it from the classroom together, and I brought it here because – because I know your people and she does not. And because I," he looked down at the dark water, then back up at his audience. "I hoped that you could protect it in some way, better than the two of us. I hoped that you might be able to help it. Will you?"

"Why should we offer help to a mammal creature?"

"Because you will do more for it than I or my friend can," said Fiyero promptly. "It has been hurt by humans."

The mass of swans fluttered, and their heads turned inwards in the dancing motions he'd always loved to watch. Finally they turned to face him again. The voice said, "We hear you, Prince Fiyero. We will find a sanctuary for your lion cub, though you must understand that we make no promises. He may be recaptured."

"I understand," said Fiyero. His teeth were chattering and he couldn't feel his feet. "I thank you."

"Leave the cage on the shore and we shall take him to safety." The first swan rose in the water, arching backwards and beating his wings frantically for a moment. He tilted his long neck back and hissed. It was a swan salute; Fiyero knew. He copied the animal, as best he could, fluttering his hands like wings. Then the swan took off, followed by his companions, and Fiyero stared into the grey sky at the flight of beautiful white shapes.

"Prince Fiyero." The Swan remained, drifting alone on the water. It paddled closer. "I am lengthwise kin to the Lady Egsaar," it said, "and it does me good to hear them spoken of."

"Sir," said Fiyero bowing his head and hoping he'd got the gender right. It was sometimes hard to tell with Swans, and they were picky about titles. "They are close to me and my family."

"I know." The Swan moved a little closer, neck twisted to look at Fiyero. "You are very clever to save an animal and come to us."

"I'm not," said Fiyero quickly. "It was my friend – she did it all. I just grabbed the cage and ran."

"Then you are at least brave and kind ," said the Swan. It gave the low rattle that served swans for laughter. "And perhaps clever."

"Sir," began Fiyero. "You have done me a favor – what would you have in return?"

Again the swan laugh. "If nothing else, you have been brought up well. Prince Fiyero, will you come back sometimes and speak to us? Not all of us can speak, but my kin and our little cousins like to hear human voices."

"Sir, I will." Fiyero smiled. He missed the gravity of Swans, who spoke and acted so much like they moved. There was something comforting about that harmony.

"And will you bring, perhaps, some interesting things to eat? Young greens, and your human bread?" Fiyero nodded. "And," said the old Swan, "will you bring your clever friend to speak to us as well?"

"Yes," said Fiyero again. "She will want to meet you."

"Good." The Swan saluted Fiyero and moved away across the water. Fiyero watched it for a little, marveling at the grace and elegance and feeling, as he often did, surprised that he was lucky enough to speak to a presence like this.

Finally, when his teeth were chattering so much he could no longer control them, he waded out of the pond and wrung the water out of his trousers. The cage and its occupant were gone. Fiyero put on his shoes and socks and squelched back to Briscoe, shivering the entire way.


	6. Gonna Grin and Bear It

**(A/N) **_Standard don't own it jokes apply, as always. This also applies to "Galoony," which is from Robin McKinley's "The Hero and the Crown" where it functions as the nickname of a character rather more annoying than Galinda. Secret's out: Elphaba does have a sense of humour. I'd been wrestling with this point for a while (not to mention this chapter), and then two things happened: I read **Fiyero Oberon**'s Chapter 28 in his "Every Little Trait" (forgive me for borrowing an idea…you did it so well) and then I browsed the Grimmerie in the bookstore, and realized what had to happen in this chapter…and also that a very dry wit was completely necessary and could only come from Elphaba. Oh well; my conscious loses another battle with my characters. Go figure. And, um, I suppose technically I'm not supposed to say this, but parts of this chapter makes me laugh like a maniac. On the other hand, I am a bit biased…_

Dear Fiyero

Ah-hah-hah-hah-hah-hah-hah-hah! Dammit; I can't laugh on paper. That was me, laughing hysterically. Thanks for the free copy!

Av

---

Dear Fiyero

I wouldn't believe it, except that you also included a copy of the article. I don't know what to say. Even Nessa laughed when I showed it to her. The picture is pretty bad; you're right. Who would really wear that? Sorry, I've got to go. And you've probably got loads of fan letters addressed to "Prince Charming" to answer. This sort of thing would only happen to you. Do you like it?

Boq

---

Dearest Elphie

I just got a copy of this month's _Ozmopolitan_, and they had this gorgeous blue silk dress with a train and A-line skirt. Problem is, it'll probably be out of fashion by winter because no one wants a dress without a crinoline. Pity – it would look stunning on you; have you ever considered blue? I've enclosed it with this letter because their main article has a full-page spotlight on page 38 that's extremely funny. Read it.

But I bet you don't care. You're probably doing something very important this summer, while your silly roomie is enjoying herself in Gillikin. It's a bit annoying, really. Fiyero's going somewhere else just before I get home from Shen's, so I won't see _anybody_ but Shen this summer. And when I get home, it's going to be just for a few weeks anyway (otherwise I'd ask you like I asked Nessa last summer). And Momsie and I are going to do some serious wardrobe remodeling.

At any rate, I'm packing for Shen's, and thinking of you (I've just found that little red book you brought me from the library; apparently it got into my truck at the end of term instead of returned to the library. Oops! It was exciting though; think they'd mind if I kept it?)

Your silly, Galinda

---

Dear Boq

No, you stupid Munchkin, of course I don't _like_ it. I'll let you read some of my fan mail when I see you in the fall. Fairly ridiculous.

Fiyero

---

Dear Fiyero

Thank you sooooo much for sending me a copy of your article! My sisters are completely envious and the next one behind me has your picture up on her wall. This girl I see sometimes who lives down the road from me nearly fainted when I said I knew you at school. It really is a good picture, you know.

Shen-Shen Lee

---

Dear Prince Fiyero

My name is Bella, and you don't know me because I've only just started at Shiz this year. But I see you on the campus all the time and I just wanted you to know that I've been in love with you ever since the first time I saw you and that my devotion is sincere, unlike all the other girls who are going to go after you when the read _Ozmopolitan_.

I love you forever, Bella Twiddmiller

---

Dear Fiyero Tiggular, Prince of the Arjaki Peoples and Lord-Apparent of Kiamo Eiver and Kiamo Ko

What a lot of titles you seem to have. What do they all mean? Galinda sent me a copy of the _Ozmopolitan_ that has your article in it; it was sweet of you to sign the picture before they printed it, although your handwriting makes it look like you're telling all your readers, "F – You". Are you really the most eligible son in Emerald City society? Avaric will be so jealous. And Galinda, if all the girls start writing to you. It's a nice picture (I've put it on my wall, because obviously having someone watching me while I sleep doesn't make me uncomfortable _at all_); maybe you should wear an open shirt more often.

Sincerely, Elphaba Thropp

P.S. Upon re-reading, this letter doesn't appear to make much sense. I'm sorry – I've never been good with letters. Suffice it to say that I found your appearance in print most amusing and I sincerely hope that it will take the place of my arrest last summer. I am a convicted artichoke; you are "Prince Charming" and a flouncing dilettante. We'll see what history makes of that, won't we?

---

Dear Galinda

Thank you for the letter. I wondered where that book was. I'll talk the librarian out of the fine it will undoubtedly accrue. And if you promise to pay me for the lost fee they will charge me for it, then I suppose you can keep it. Although you're not really supposed to.

Thank you also for the backhanded invitation. And no, I don't and won't wear blue. Maybe red or orange or yellow – we can talk. Something bright, anyway. Besides, Fiyero yelled at me for wearing white once and I suppose he knows. And it's probably good you don't want Nessa or me. Nessa is going into the Courts with Father quite a lot; she's suddenly got very good at law, maybe because she likes to memorize things? Very structured brain, my sister. On the bright side, she's got a lot of energy, and she's suddenly found a way to focus it. It's strange; I've been hoping and hoping she'd find a vocation she loved but now I miss my little sister.

I'm busy too, in a sort of vague way, reading and puttering around on the Munchkin farms. Fiyero's article was very funny. I'm sure he'll love being called "Prince Charming" from now on, won't he?

Sincerely, Elphaba Thropp

---

Dear Miss Elphaba "Convict" Thropp

Thanks for the letter; best fan mail I've gotten yet (you don't mind if I file it there, do you?). My titles mean what they sound like. I'm an Arjaki prince, which means, as I'm sure you know, next to nothing. Nobility, in our day and age, are glorified businessmen (this line to be delivered in an rediculousesly affected voice, much like my father's over cigars and brandy). Lord apparent means I'm not lord yet but will be. Kiamo Eiver, or I suppose, Beautiful Fortress in UO, is where I live. It's a sort of domesticated castle: we have a moat but lots of upholstery and carpets instead of bare floors and tapestries. Kiamo Ko (Nowhere Fortress) is the glorified hunting lodge in the Thousand Year Grasslands. It's just a tack-on to make the title sound more impressive. Hope you're having a good summer.

F-Y- "Prince Charming" Tiggular

---

Dear Prince Charming:

I know what "lord apparent" means, thank you so very much. And your signature really does look like you're cursing at me. I am having a good summer, thanks for asking. A little quiet, a little dull, but good, in the solidest, Munchkinest way possible. Not even any storms and certainly no arrests. Where are you?

Sincerely, Elphaba Thropp

---

Dear Elphaba

Well, I was in the Grasslands, doing some hunting and strange, barbarian Vinkus things. Which in this case, means lighting fires the old-fashioned way and telling a lot of stories and staring at a sky bigger than anything I can imagine or describe (sorry – my specialty is decidedly _not_ anything in the writing line). It's beautiful out there – completely flat so that the sky looks round and you can see forever, more or less. I feel like I'm standing on the edge of nowhere, especially at night. Dark makes everything look bigger. I don't know – there's something fascinating about the sky, isn't there?

Now I'm at Kiamo Eiver. And, well, you're already going to be confused when you get this, so here's the explanation. Skip over the first paragraph; it's kind of irrelevant anyway. Remember the Swan in the park? Like I (or he, actually) told you the reason I went to them in the first place is because the Mater keeps Swans at home. They've always been around Kiamo Eiver; they taught me to swim and to move and to have a sense of humour…they taught me a lot. And now, there's kind of…a problem. The ECC's quite active in Northern Gillikin because there are so many affluent families there, and the boarder's not exactly determined up here anyway. Point is, the ECC's been snooping around Kiamo Eiver for a couple of years now. Pater made them go away last summer when they wanted to relocate Daphnus and Chloe, but since then I guess they've gained some extra powers or something.

There were a couple of their goons here earlier today (yesterday, now; the bell went a while back) and no matter what the Pater said, they insisted that Daphnus and Chloe had to go. Look, I remember what happened to Dillamond, and I remember what I said to you, and what Galinda said to you. I'm not saying you were right, or that we were wrong (I still think Galinda and I had sense on our side, anyway). The Wizard _is_ the good guy, and honestly, I can't figure out what he's up to. Maybe he slept in the day the ECC went after Dr. Dillamond. But what I am saying is that these two Birds are part of my family, and I'm sure as hell not handing over my family to some government-sponsored relocation program. You know Swans, a little because of our time in the part. And you live all the way across the country from me; it's the last place anyone would look for fleeing birds. So, can I ask you, based on nothing particularly spectacular I've done (besides, maybe, give you an autograph), to help? Because you're _Elphaba_ and for some reason this means to me that you can solve any and all problems.

There's money to cover whatever expenses they might incur attached, and they can clarify what's been happening this year while we were at school. It's not very nice.

I – damn . Just – thank you.

Fiyero

---

Dear Prince Tiggular

We saw your work in _Ozmopolitan_ and were impressed with your natural style and ease with the magazine medium. We would like to do a similar article to the _Ozmopolitan_ piece about the Emerald City's brightest youth and are very interested in including you in that; we would also be open to doing some modeling. Do indicate your interest and we would love to see you when you are next in the Emerald City.

Sincerely, Maddic Kareln, Senior Writer/Junior Editor _Faces of Oz: The Emerald City Weekly_

---

Dear Shen

Thanks everso for the visit. It was so much fun to see you without Av for once! And I loved that darling little restaurant with the patio out back; your home's so _pretty_, and you never told me. I can't wait to see you back at school!

Funny – I can't think of anything I haven't already said to you! Well, except this: have you got a pair of blue slippers that aren't really yours? It's only that I've lost mine and I think I left them under the bed in your spare room!

Your affectionate, scatterbrained, Galinda

---

Dearest Elphie

It rained today, and my shopping trip got cancelled. And now I can't sleep, which is more or less disastrous because I'm going to look appalling tomorrow when I _will_ be shopping. I hate it when my colour's off; it's the curse of being a blonde, I suppose. So instead I'm writing to you. This is because I was lying in bed staring at the ceiling – it's got little stars on it; Momsie made them when I was about eight and they're still there. They even have the silver glitter around the edges still (although sometimes it falls off and I wake up with it in my hair – very annoying). Anyway, I was staring at them, and I sort of turned over and I was going to ask if you were awake…but of course you weren't there. And I realized that we usually have insomnia at the same time (except, of course, when I was stupid and went to the coffee house with Gaddris at ten o'clock and was awake for the rest of the night…silly me) so I've gotten used to talking to you when I can't sleep. So I'm writing to you instead.

We're starting our last year at Shiz in three weeks. It's frightening, isn't it? We're going to have to be adults at this time next year. We might even have jobs, or real lives. I'm going to have to actually do something at the parties. I mean, I flirt with boys now, but it's just practice for after school when I actually _have_ to get married. And you're going to be in the city – I'm so jealous! – working for the Wizard. You're going to be _important_, Elphie. And before you say, we'll cross that bridge when we come to it, even the last year at Shiz is kind of scary. We'll have to do _exams_. I'm sure I'm going to fail sorcery miserably. No matter how much help you give me.

Oh dear; what a depressing letter. I'm sorry. Oh well. I'm going shopping tomorrow, like I said. I think I might buy some brown for autumn – it'll look nice with russet trim, don't you think?

Your confused, Galinda

---

Dear Fiyero

I'm not sure exactly what to say. I received your letter and your guests. They didn't stay: Swans aren't exactly native to Munchkinland, and we're too close to the Emerald City for me to be comfortable. When I was much younger and my Grandfather was Governor, Father and Mother lived in Quadling Country for a while. Nessa was born there and then we moved back here, but I remember it. I sent Daphnus and Chloe south, to a Quadling village in the back of beyond where we used to live. There were birds there, anyway, if not Swans. It sounded as though birds help other birds. I suppose that makes sense, doesn't it? Anyway, Daphnus and Chloe seemed happy with the idea; we all felt as though the most important thing was getting them away from the ECC. I hope you don't mind.

I do know what I want to say, actually. I've figured it out. I want to say, thank you. Thank you for trusting me, and thank you for letting me meet them. I've met only a few Animals before, and only Gaz (Boq's Collie) and Dr. Dillamond were really willing to treat me like a person. Oddly, many Animals in Munchkinland seem to have the same prejudices as the humans. I feel very lucky to have met Daphnus and Chloe. They have such elegance – I've never seen a human with the like, and I've never known how people get it anyway. So I hope that you don't regret your decision, and I really am grateful.

Sincerely, Elphaba Thropp

PS I'm sending back the money. It wasn't necessary.

PPS Daphnus and Chloe both said to thank you also for everything you've done for them, both in the past and present. That was it, really – they didn't seem very comfortable with the idea of letters.

PPPS But they did say they wanted me to tell you – oh, you know what, never mind. I'll find you at Shiz.

Your friend. No, yours sincerely. No, that's not right either; dammit, what am I supposed to call you?. From me, Elphaba Thropp.

---

Dear Galinda

I had insomnia a couple of weeks ago too; I guess we really do get it at the same time. You're right about leaving Shiz, but I think the thing that almost scares me more than the future is that fact that you think it's so easily predictable. How do you _know_ that's what's going to happen? Maybe the Wizard will hire _you_ and I'll end up a society belle in Quadling country, married to Boq while Prince Charming dances attendance on Shen. Where's Avaric, you ask? Oh, he eloped with Nessa. I'd like to believe that anything is possible; wouldn't you? It's less…confining.

It was a weird night. Do you ever have those moments when you feel like you're waiting, poised on the edge, and waiting for something – real life? – to start. I guess that's what college is for: a space between leaving home and starting real life. You _like_ college, but I want to get out of it now, even. It's so small, so idle, so limited. I think sometimes the Morrible and her constant carrot of the Wizard is the only thing that keeps me going there. I want something to happen to me. I feel like I should be doing something or feeling something that I'm missing. I've never done more than kiss a boy – you know that? – and that was when I was thirteen and it was a dare anyway. I feel as if I've spent the last nineteen (almost twenty) years of my life in a cocoon of some kind. Nothing has happened to me; or rather, nothing that has happened has really touched me. I'm waiting behind clouds of directionless adolescent longing for _something._ For someone to sweep me off me feet; for the world to change under me; for Lurline at the crossroads to point me in a new direction. And its these late nights where I get this inarticulate need, desire, _longing_ for something or someone. It's a sort of restless self-destructive mood. Truth be told, Galoony, I want to be able to do something big. I want to be something big. _I want to fly_.

And I want to be able to sleep; that would help. Hope you have a good night and that this doesn't sound like the deranged ramblings of a green madwoman. I can't write letters.

Sincerely, Elphaba Thropp

---

Dear Prince Charming

I am fourteen & I just bought your magazine & I love you so very much. You are on my wall over my bed. My friend also went out & bought your magazine but since I did it first I love you more & if she sends you any letters burn them because she's a stupid cow. It would mean so much to me if you would sign this picture I sent & maybe add a message. It will make my friend jealous. Thank you so much. I love you.

Sincerely yours, Jasmin Mackry

---

Dear Mr. Kareln

I was delighted to receive your letter, and I would indeed be very interested in working with you. I am about to begin my final year of university, and as I'm sure you must guess, my studies are very important to me. However, I am sure that we could come to some sort of agreement. My only stipulation is that my address is not, under any circumstances, to be given out by the companies who work with me. I will be in the Emerald City for the end of the month of August. Perhaps we could arrange an appointment at that time?

Regards, F-Y- Tiggular


	7. Sudden Silence

**(A/N) **_Playing fast and loose with the chronology, as always. Above all, I want a realistic timeline. So that's what we're getting here. And yes, I've moved a conversation, and I am completely unapologetic. I like my version better, thank you very much. Standard don't own it jokes apply to characters and situation (also to "it's the same me, isn't it?" which is again from Brian Friel's play Translations). And the idea of a steeplechase was not, ahem, completely original._

Fiyero remembered the Autumn term his final year at Shiz as one of the best times of his life; full of hazy light flecked with dust motes. He realized that there were certain things in his life that were beautiful, and that he had never before acknowledged them properly. A flight of swans in the royal purple sky, or sunlight slanting through the diamond-pained glass of the Maguire lecture hall; there were things in his life here that were special, things that would only happen to _him_, Fiyero. Even down the experience of being down on his knees in the bushes hiding from the surprisingly resourceful Bella Twidmiller, who filled his mail pigeon-hole at the front of Briscoe with love letters on varying horrible stationery, had its own particular value.

One Friday they were sitting in the pub, the table strewn with books and complex spell drawings – unfinished homework, not hers, usually, but somebody's, followed Elphaba like a lonely puppy that year – scattered over the table, mixed with other papers in other hands. The waiter was cranky but efficient; he knew the Shiz group and he know that he'd be well-tipped from Noran Tiggular's generous pockets. They ordered a few jugs of rich golden cider, heady and sweet and fizzy. Then they ordered a few more.

They all got sodden – Avaric and Fiyero ebullient drunks, Shen and Milla giggling ones (not so different from everyday life, thought Fiyero, a mean drunk when he got serious), Elphaba, if she was indeed drunk, a sullen one. Galinda, however, was a maudlin drunk. Somehow they got to talking about summers, and then about the ECC, and then about Dillamond. Elphaba roused herself to say, crossly, that she didn't believe he'd really been hired anywhere, and that ECC was up to no good.

"Dd-d-don't be sho shilly," said Shen, and giggled. "'Coursh he's got shomefing to do."

"Shen, you're completely drunk," said Avaric, putting an arm around her shoulder. "_I_ don't care."

"Yeah, why does it really matter?" Fiyero downed another mouthful of cider and put the mug down on the table. It sloshed over his fingers and he laughed giddily. "I'm happy and mostly drunk, and I don't really give a damn what the Wizard or his minions are up to." He waved a hand, conducting an imaginary chorus "Why invite stress in? It's just life so keep dancing too…"

They all laughed. But Galinda banged her mug down. "No, i's not…not _fair_. We have lost a beloved professor to unexplained cir-cir-circumstances."

"Yes," said Elphaba in a way that was partly a question and partly a statement.

"I want to do something to commemoremorate him." Galinda got to her feet determinedly, swaying a little. Fiyero offered her a hand to steady her. "I'm going to…" she seemed to be thinking. All of them watched her, inebriated and riveted. "As a tribute to our lost Dr. Dillamond, I want, henceforward, to be called Glinda. Officially."

"But that's your name," said Milla blankly.

"With no 'a.' You know." Galinda tossed her head and swayed. "The way _he_ always called me. Dr. Dillamond." Her blue eyes sparkled with sentimental tears.

"Yesh. Speech! Speech!" Shen waved her hands in the air.

"Interesting idea," said Elphaba.

"Sure, love," Fiyero slurred, swinging the hand he was holding. "Whatever you want."

"I'm Glinda," she said again, and sat down. Fiyero pulled her onto his lap and the conversation turned in other directions.

Much later they walked back to the campus, Shen barely conscious and Milla giggling madly. Avaric, none-too-steady on his feet himself, tried to guide the girls. Hard-headed Boq was more help. Galinda (Glinda?) leaned on one side of Elphaba and Fiyero leaned on the other. Boq took the three girls back to Crage, but Elphaba gripped Fiyero's wrist as he made to follow them. She leaned on him. "Got a minute?" She dragged him towards the University Chapel. "You need to see this," she said. She might have been sober – he couldn't tell. He himself was more or less conscious of his surroundings, though the universe circled around him when he moved and his vision was a little funny.

But he followed. He was rarely in the Chapel (he had better things to do Sunday mornings, like sleep) and, as he stepped forward into the soft dusty air, he wondered how he'd missed it. The moon was going down outside and the rose window, on the west side of the building, was lit up by a fountain of muted colour. Moonlight shouldn't have illumined the stained glass, but it did. Elphaba had walked to the center of the light and was standing still, daubed red and green and purple. She pointed upwards. "See there?" Fiyero came to stand beside her and looked, leaning one hand against her shoulder for balance. She smelled like cider and incense. Above him the glass had been fused together with little bands of lead: green bordering on blue bordering on pink.

"Beautiful," he said, staring up blearily.

"I sometimes think my life is like a collage," said Elphaba softly. Fiyero felt mildly embarrassed to hear something so personal from the Artichoke, the Convict, the strange Green Girl. "Made of little bits of memories and jokes and tears and images snatched from a railway carriage window, all stuck together into some kind of glittering _thing_."

"That," answered Fiyero, surprised, "is a very good idea. And very true."

"This is your prism," she said, looking at him over her shoulder with that crooked smile. She gestured towards the rose window. "It lights up from the West."

"True for you, Lady, but you found it."

-----

Fiyero thought about her comment a lot, later on when he'd sobered up and gotten over the hangover. He thought about a lot of things a lot, that quarter. It was unusual. Surprising. And interesting in spite of itself. He began, self-consciously, to build his own mental collage: a warm afternoon tinged with autumn, and Galinda curled up against him, dozing like a pink and gold kitten. Elphaba reading from the play Milla was trying to write for her Teaching Degree. It was not a very good play, nor was Elphaba a very good actress, but she had a raw sort of charisma she brought to the melodramatic role that make Avaric, reading opposite her, go slack-jawed and stare. And Fiyero smiled to see his friend recognize what Fiyero had always sensed: energy and a fierce, fly-away loveliness that surprised more than pleased. The look of delight on Nessa's face as she charmed black-fire flowers from an empty vase. Boq demonstrating traditional Munchkin dance on a pub table after a few drinks. Fiyero and Avaric linked together racing over the University rooftops in the moonlight. They did a make a collage, he thought, thinking of Swans and cantering through the sleeping town with Galinda holding tight to his waist and squealing. A sparkling circle of glass.

At some point since the ballroom they had become a cohesive group of three. There were the others, of course, but there was an inner circle of Galinda, Elphaba, and Fiyero holding onto each other. Fiyero wondered sometimes which of them made it possible: whether Galinda's determined cheer held both a bitter girl and a lazy boy in a group, or whether it was Elphaba's dry intellectualism that created the net to catch a flighty Galinda and a feckless Fiyero. Or maybe it was his own good-natured calm that made it possible for snobbish Galinda and solitary Elphaba to speak to each other. He couldn't tell. It didn't matter, particularly.

-----

Mid-winter term, after Lurlinemas and a week or so after Elphaba's twentieth birthday, he was contemplating a trip into the town for dinner and passing by the park as he did, when he heard someone calling for him – "Fiyerrrrooooo!" He turned and saw Galinda, running towards him.

"Galinda?"

She swatted at him with her muff. "_Glinda_, I told you. In tribute to our dear, lost Doctor." For some reason, she'd remembered her drunken announcement and now she spent a good deal of her time correcting people.

"Yes, I remember. Sorry. Look, I'm going into town for dinner, will you come?"

"Can't, I have a lecture. But, guess what?"

"What?"

"_The Wizard's asked Elphie to see him in the Emerald City!_"

"Really?" Fiyero ran his hand through his hair and caught his hat before it fell in the snow. It was impressive. They'd all known, somewhere down deep, that Elphaba was destined for greatness. But to have it start, now…was not expected. "Well, when is she going?"

"Eight o'clock train tomorrow morning, un_for_tunately. Can you do me a favour?"

"Of course," he said. "What is it?"

"I have to go to class now, and after, I'm making a surprise going-away dinner for Elphie 'cause we can't get town privileges without more lead time – "

"Can I come?"

"What, to the party?" Galinda – _Glinda_ – made a little pout. "No, sorry. I wanted you to, but Madam Carett won't let you call on a week night."

"No, I should think not." Fiyero grinned. He had once given Madam Carett a rather hard time when he'd returned Glinda to Crage at three in the morning. "Very well. So what am I supposed to do?"

"Weellll," said Glinda coyly, "since you _are_ going into town, could you make up some kind of care package for Elphie while you're there? Something nice, something sweet. Something fun for the train."

"Of course I could," said Fiyero, trained to be polite. "Have a nice party," he added wistfully.

Glinda hugged him. "Thank you so much!"

Shopping for a gift for Elphaba Thropp was harder than it sounded. Originally he'd thought, oh just buy her a nice book, but Elphaba took her reading seriously and he didn't know what to get her. Pity he couldn't find Weiboldt or something, he though ruefully. In the end he bought the staples: a bouquet of hothouse poppies, the traveler's flower; a box of marzipan shaped like fruits – the soft, sweet summer fruits and crisp autumn harvest crops that Elphaba loved. Mince pies and savouries, the pastry buttery and flaky to the touch. Little, tasty goodies; the frivolities Elphaba never indulged in. He bought a pair of white beaded gloves in one of the many silly trinket stores, but realized after the purchase they wouldn't do for Elphaba at all. Maybe Galinda would like them?

He ended up in a junk store, hunting for something – he didn't know what. What he found was a lump of stone that fit in the palm of his hand; polished up as a paperweight, probably. It was an odd shape, mostly purple and shot through with streaks of blue and white and a grainy gold here and there. Smooth and surprisingly heavy, it reminded him of the Vinkus worry-fetishes his grandmother had insisted on giving him when he was much younger. The irregularity of it, and the softness, attracted him and he felt instinctively that Elphaba might like it. She liked beautiful things, he'd noticed. In the few times Galinda had forced her friend to borrow a scarf or fur, Fiyero had seen the girl surreptitiously running her fingers over the fabric. Yes, he thought, this would do.

"Penny to dip in the surprise basket?" asked the shopkeeper as he paid for the stone.

"What?"

"We've got a basket of old merchandise we're selling piecemeal. Shut your eyes and pull out a surprise!"

"All right, then." Fiyero added a penny to the money he was already giving her, shut his eyes, and put his hand into the basket she held out. He rummaged, his hand skating past textures of cloth and wax and little pointy things that might be jewelry. Eventually he closed his fingers around something smooth and pulled.

"That's pretty," said the shopkeeper complacently. "You have a nice day, now."

"Thank you," said Fiyero. He went outside with his purchases and looked at what he'd pulled out. It was a gentleman's flask, about the size to fit in the breast pocket of a coat. He had one, in fact, back in his room that his grandfather had given to him when he turned sixteen. Fiyero's was made of the heavy blue glass the Vinkus tribesmen made in the South. This, though, was Quadling-made, and far more elegant than his. The glass was clear, flecked with a few bubbles, with a pattern of coloured diamonds, green and blue and washed-out red, painted around the neck. The stopper was metal, carved like a dragon whose open mouth fitted around the neck of the bottle. It was a pretty trinket, Fiyero realized. Very pretty.

Back in Briscoe he found an old travel box one of his aunts had made up for him and packed it with the food. He also, on a whim, decanted a fair amount of his own supply of Vinkus moonshine into the Quadling dragon flask and fitted it in next to the marzipan. It was always good to have alcohol on you, he thought. Elphaba might appreciate it.

He cut Life Sciences to go to the train station the next morning. Elphaba and Galinda were there before him, shivering on the platform and drinking hot coffee. He paused on the bridge over the rails to look down on them. Two figures, Galinda in a white and gold wool dress and fitted jacket; Elphaba in green and back, the pointed hat tilted and her old coat wrapped around her shoulders They looked like two ordinary school girls. Galinda looked up and waved. "There he is!" she announced. "I _told_ you he was coming."

"I'm here, I'm here." Fiyero clattered down the stairs onto the platform. "Hello, hello. Or rather," he looked at Elphaba, "goodbye, goodbye. You know, I've been thinking,"

"I heard," said Elphaba. She looked at Galinda and they both giggled. "Is it difficult?"

"A bit." Fiyero presented the flowers with a flourish. "I've been thinking that you're going to have a fantastic time."

"Ooh, Elphie, you _are_." Galinda smiled. "I've always wanted to see the Emerald City!"

Elphaba took the flowers and looked at them, a little confused. Then she looked up again, her eyes alight. "Galoony, come with me. To the Emerald City."

Galinda gasped. "Oh, no, I couldn't."

"Why not?"

"Well, I – I wasn't invited," she said. "The Wizard doesn't want to see me. And I'll have to cut class."

"The Morrible's letting _me_ go – what are you going to do in a class of two when one is missing?" Elphaba pointed out reasonably. "And Fiyero cuts class all the time. It doesn't bother _him_."

"Thank you," interjected Fiyero, bowing elaborately.

" I –" Galinda began.

"Just go," said Fiyero. "Take a risk; close your eyes and leap. Look, your train's coming. And you have all you need for clothes in that bag. Here. Take this," he pushed the lunchbox into her hands and added a business card. "Go to this hotel and eat at their restaurant. They're quite reasonable." The train pulled into the station, puffing steam in the snowy morning. Elphaba grabbed her battered satchel and got on, presumably looking for a compartment. Fiyero caught Galinda's shoulders and hugged her, pressing his chilly face to hers. He pushed the gloves into her hands. "These are for you. Safe journey."

"Thank you, Fiyero." She smiled at him almost shyly. He smiled back.

"Galoony!" Elphaba's head appeared out of a window, hatless and smiling, with her hair loose around her shoulders and blowing in the snow flurries. "Hurry up!" Galinda ran for the train.

Fiyero swore. "Elphaba," he yelled, "don't go away." He dug into his jacket pocket and found the paperweight, wrapped in leftover holiday paper, striped green and gold. "Happy Birthday and Lurlinemas!" He ran over to the open window and held the little parcel up. Elphaba leaned down, her long hair dangling around his face. She smiled in a moment of awkward surprise. He could see her thinking, _a present? For me?_

"Thank you, Fiyero," she said gravely. "Thank you so very much."

Fiyero clasped her gloved fingers in his for a moment and, with a movement that was half habit and half daring, brushed his lips across the closest hand. "Safe journey, Elphaba Thropp."

"Emerald Ciiiiity!" yelled the conductor, and the train coughed, began to move forward. Fiyero let go and stood on the platform, waving until the train disappeared around the bend. The two girls leaning out of the compartment window, pink and green, dark and fair, Elphaba and Galinda, Galoony and Elphie, waved back. They were laughing, jostling each other, strands of Elphaba's hair blowing into Galinda's face and twisting around her soft curls. And they waved, a long green hand and a little pink one, moving back and forth and back and forth until the train disappeared and it was only Fiyero on the platform.

-----

The Glinda who came back from the Emerald City was not the same one who had left. The Shiz seniors, loitering on and about a snowy Sir Chuffrey, saw Morrible get out of the huge carriage, then hand out a stiff Glinda. "Now, I don't want you bothering our dear Galinda here," said Madam Morrible. Glinda cleared her throat. It was a little sound in the empty snowy space. "Oh, of course, _Glinda_. I'm sorry, dear. She's had _quite_ an ordeal, but you are certainly not going to pester her about it, are you?"

"I love the Morrible's little speeches," Boq muttered. "They always make things _more_ mysterious rather than less." Fiyero nodded.

"That's funny," said Avaric, peering around Chuffrey's shoulder. "No Artichoke,"

"Maybe the Morrible ate her?" Fiyero suggested. He was looking over Chuffrey's other shoulder. "Don't worry; I'm sure Glinda will be round soon enough to tell us what happened." 

But she wasn't. Elphaba had vanished as effectively as Dr. Dillamond and Glinda remained in her Crage suite alone. She was still light, exquisite, sweet, but she evaded questions and said so very little that _they_ – the people who thought of themselves as _her_ friends: Shavren and Milla and Boq and Fiyero knew something was wrong. It wasn't that she was unsociable, exactly; Fiyero saw her walking arm in arm with Bella Twidmiller once, and turned away feeling a bit revolted. And she was always with the Morrible. But those who knew her best were held at a conspicuous distance.

In short, she was popular, brilliant, lovely. You wouldn't have noticed a change unless you were looking for it. "Think she'll be by tonight?" Boq asked for what seemed the millionth time.

"No," said Avaric. "But I'd _like_ her to be." He leaned sideways to see his clock. "Given it's after hours on a Wednesday, highly unlikely."

"This is ridiculous." Fiyero was lying on his bed, hands linked behind his head. "Why are we just waiting for her to show up?" He got two blank looks in response. "Exactly; you don't know why either." He bounced up to sitting and leaned over, digging under his bed for a pair of boots. "It's been three weeks; I don't know about you, but I'm tired of waiting, and we're owed an explanation. I mean, what _did_ happen to Elphaba? No one's asked." The other two boys evaded Fiyero's eyes. He pulled on his boots. "I'm going to go talk to her."

"Um, Fiyero," said Boq. "It's after hours."

"So?"

"Soooo…the duty-master downstairs won't let you out and the duty-mistress at Crage _certainly_ won't let you in." Avaric flipped a page with affected ostentation.

"Who said I was using the stairs?" Fiyero slung his greatcoat over his shoulders and pushed the window open. "Av, be a dear and don't lock it, all right?"

"You're crazy," said Avaric. "Yes, I'll leave it open."

Fiyero perched in the window. "Gentlemen," he said, "I now embark upon an epic quest. Goodnight." He dropped away from the little window of light, three feet down onto the next roof. The inhabitants, first years, wouldn't complain about the noise if they heard it. He walked through the ankle-deep snow to the drainpipe, and then descended to ground level with care. Briscoe to the main quad was easy enough, since it involved walking on the ground. Last year Fiyero and Avaric had participated in the Shiz Steeplechase, which involved teams running across the roofs of various university buildings. They'd lost, because Fiyero had happened to glance sideways and see an easy route to Crage, so they went there instead, dropping in on a very surprised Shen-Shen for the evening. He remembered the route, though.

At the edge of the main quad, he shimmied up a tree and had to make a disturbingly vertiginous jump to get onto the Science roof (this had been rather easier when the trees had branches). But once there, it was a matter of navigating the chimney-pots and pitfalls of the roof. And always keeping on the side farthest from the Administration building, home to the ever-watchful Morrible. There was a nasty jump from the Maguire roof to the top of the Music Building, but just about manageable. Fiyero felt very dashing and mysterious with his coat billowing as he jumped from building to building.

Crage, bless the architect, had a relatively flat roof (unlike the horribly Gothic Butz Annex, attached to the back of the Music Building and dotted with towers and steep roofs). Fiyero walked over the top, then went down another drainpipe to the third floor. Glinda's suite had a wide double window opening on a perfectly flat stretch of roof. Fiyero dropped near the edge and peered in. The room was painted a pale purple and very large. It also had a very bifurcated appearance. One side was spare and tidy: a line of books above the bed with a funny piece of carved wood as a bookend. The bed made with precise right-angle corners in the brown wool blanket. One rather sad pillow dead centre. The other side was…well, overflowing was the best word Fiyero could come up with. Twenty pairs of shoes, arranged by colour, had been placed on the shelves above the bed, and the spread was a purple several shades darker than the walls. There were a good many pillows and what looked like a monster made of lace and satin and crinolines was oozing out of the closet. He tapped on the window. Glinda, in a very pretty blue bathrobe, spun around and let out a small scream. Unlatching the window, she looked up at him and said, "Fiyero Tiggular, _what_ are you doing here?"

"I wanted to talk to you. May I?"

"I – it's after hours! I'll get in trouble."

"No you won't." Fiyero looked at her face. "How are you?"

"But the proprieties…"

"Hang the proprieties!"

Glinda put her hands on her hips. "What do you want?"

"I want you to tell me what happened three weeks ago in the Emerald City." He dropped to a crouch outside the window, coat spread in the snow like wings. "Really? I want you to tell me why you're ignoring me, and what happened to Elphaba."

Her face, side-lit by the fire, shook slightly. Little lines he hadn't seen before firmed around her mouth and eyes. "Elphaba…made a choice," she said. "I made a different one." She turned away and Fiyero wondered if her shoulders were shaking or if he was imagining it.

"Here, let me come in and I'll make you some tea," he said abruptly. She wanted comforting badly; that much, at least, was obvious.

"No, don't." She turned around again and looked at him. "You're not supposed to be here, and we'll both get in horrible trouble. Please go."

"Aren't you going to tell me what happened?"

"No. No, I'm not. It's none of your business."

"Galinda –" Fiyero began.

"It's _Glinda_," she said, and made to shut the window.

Fiyero caught the glass before it closed completely. "You know," he said quietly, "I think I liked Galinda better."

"Oh, Galinda, Glinda, what's the difference?" said the girl, pettishly, her face quivering. "Leave me alone. It's the same me, isn't it?"

Fiyero let go of the glass and the window shut. And he sat with her, outside instead of inside, as she flung herself down on the sad little brown bed and cried desperately.

-----

At the end of the year they graduated in the bemused laughter of all graduating classes. They were looking forward to jobs, marriage proposals, homes; the dreaded Real Life. All of them ready for the world to begin because something infinitely precious – four years worth of living, loving, growing – had ended forever. If the curly horns of a certain professor were missing in the line of faculty that processed into the hall, no one mentioned it. And when Miss Glinda Arduenna of the Upperuplands, charming, social, but withdrawn just enough to be noticeable, burst into tears when she won both the Sorcery Cup and the Senior Girl's Trophy, everyone fondly assumed it was joy. Fiyero, who had that morning sent her a bouquet of pink carnations and leafy foliage, thought he understood why.


	8. A Perfect Finale

**(A/N)** _Fiyero/Glinda alert. I don't know if this ship even has a name, but I'm going to write it. Fiyerba fans, hang on for another few chapters and give Glinda what she deserves. I think the Pathetic Fallacy Police will be around for me soon, but I've been reading a lot of Shakespeare recently and you must admit that Wicked does lend itself well to expressive weather. Don't own Wicked, of course. _

Dear Fiyero

I have insomnia. I can't sleep, and I absolutely _hate_ it when that happens. At Shiz, Elphie and I would get insomnia at the same time and we'd have these wonderful white nights where we'd just talk about…everything, really. I wonder if she can't sleep tonight too.

This is the fifteenth letter I've started to you, and I probably won't send it. I sit down and write them out and then throw them in the garbage the next morning. Anyway. I was lying in bed – I _detest_ that bed sometimes! – thinking about Shiz. It's like being homesick for…not home; vivid images of where you used to be. Like, there will be times when I can call up _exactly_ what it felt like to walk round the corner of Maguire hall and see the playing fields all spread out under an orange sunset.

But all this is a bit silly; listen to me babble on about nothing. What did I really mean to say? I can't remember because it's too early in the morning (or late at night?) and my head's all muzzy. I wanted – I wanted to say how very sorry I am. I treated all of you appallingly last year, but especially you, Fiyero. I couldn't stop thinking about what I said to you that night you came and sat in the snow. I was, well, really, I was just _horrible_. I'm trying to apologize because, and you have to understand me, this wasn't what I wanted. I didn't want my last year of college to be me desperately lonely and have my friends hating me. Shen and Milla were catty, but we're better now. Avaric doesn't seem to mind, and I haven't the heart to write to Boq. He'll do better if I _don't_.

But I have no idea how to apologize to you, Fiyero. I think you understand – your bouquet seemed to say so – but I don't know how to really atone. There's something so weighty and yet completely insignificant about saying "I'm sorry." It should be so easy to use, but _it isn't_. And I don't know how to say it anyway. It sounds stupid, you know?

I'm sorry.

I'm so terribly sorry.

Forgive me, but –

I didn't mean to.

I won't do it again.

You see what I mean? Pointless, foolish, vapid, _useless_. Grow up, Glinda. Oh, for Lurline's sake…I'll probably tear this one up too.

----

Dear Glinda

My darling girl, please don't wrack your brains thinking of the right thing to say; that one piece of pink paper will do for me, thanks.

Can I ask now the question you wouldn't answer in March?

Fiyero

----

Dear Fiyero

Yes, you can, and I'll even answer this time. What happened in the Emerald City? We got onto the train and waved you round the corner, and then we opened up your _lovely_ little care package and ate sweets until I felt a bit sick. Once we got there, we looked at the city. It doesn't snow as much there, you know, and it was almost warm. Nice to walk around in, and there were people out everywhere. I love being surrounded by people – so many of them. It's like canned excitement. I think they made Elphie nervous though.

Madam Morrible had made the appointment for 3:00, and we got there at 11:00, so we walked around and ate at your restaurant (it was very good!). Then we went an saw the Wizard. I'm not sure how to describe him; he's such a funny old man. Quite short and beginning to bald with the dearest little moustaches imaginable and a silly bow tie. He's somehow comic and smart at the same time. Then Madam Morrible came in, and we were both so _very_ shocked to see her there. They explained to Elphie, who was looking a little stunned, that they'd been looking for someone with her talents for absolute _ever_. The Wizard brought out this book from somewhere and had Elphie do a spell. At least that's what they said it was; it sounded like nonsense to me. And we all waited for something to happen, and you could tell the Wizard was getting ready to tell her "thanks but no thanks" when a monkey came in. A monkey with _wings_! And the Wizard lit up and said he'd found exactly what he needed and started going on about all sorts of things, like surveillance and direct procedure and internal strife and it all sounded terrifically impressive, but Elphie just started at that monkey and looked like she was going to be sick. Then she grabbed the book thing and ran for the door!

Madam Morrible gave me this _look_, then, and I went after Elphie like anything. Behind me, I could hear the Wizard calling for guards. She was headed up, so I ran up twisting spiral stairs after her into the attic. We barricaded the door and tried to figure out how to get out. "I'm not going back!" she said. Well, sort of – she wasn't really coherent. She was alive, somehow: like there was this great big candle inside her and now someone had had lit it. We could hear the guards at the door, and Elphie somehow enchanted a broom to _fly_! I don't know how, but she did. And then she was at the window, ready to go. And the guards were at the door, trying to break it down, it sounded like. And I was in the middle, afraid of the guards and afraid of Elphie. I can't explain it. You know when she loses her temper? Like that only…more. Not as much noise or funny lights, but she was _there_, really deeply _there_ in a way she isn't most of the time.

She asked me come with her, Fiyero. She asked me to be an outlaw and rebel, and a whatever-it-is she is now. And I said no. I told her I hate heights. It's true, actually. The thought of being up there with nothing to hold onto but a silly piece of wood, and nothing to catch if you fall – that terrifies me. So she looked at me with those sparkling eyes and kissed me very quickly and jumped onto the windowsill. It was very dramatic, especially because those stupid guards broke in and surrounded me. Me! I ask you! Did _I_ look like the crazed Sorcery student who'd just mutilated one of the Wizard's animals and was now contemplating breaking the laws of physics! Anyway, Elphie stood there for a moment, and looked down at all of them in that terribly _stern_ way she has and said, "Galoony. If anyone asks, tell them I'm _defying gravity_!" And then she jumped out of the window.

There wasn't a body when the guards went down, so I assume the broom flew. But where she is, I don't know. I don't know anything, except that when she asked, I said no. _Everybody_'s asked me for things, except for her, and when she finally did, all I could say was that I was afraid. I feel like I failed her, somehow. Which is ridiculous; _I'm_ not a criminal! Afterwards the Wizard and Madam Morrible fed me cakes and told me how dangerous Elphie was, and I've spent most of the last six months feeling horrible because I still cared about a dangerous enemy of the state, and then because that guilt made me not talk to anybody who might ask me about it.

That's what happened, really. The rest you know.

A nervous and tearful, Glinda

----

Dear Glinda

That's something I've been needing to know all year; why Elphaba walked out on us without a word (and yes, I think it is _us_, not just you or Shiz) and why you were so different afterwards.

So our Eminent Thropp is now a missing person and labeled dangerous. You said she was a criminal; I don't want to believe you. But there are so many sides of being a criminal, and everybody's justified to themselves, that maybe she is one. How strange. My grandmother used to tell me stories about the Wheel of Fortune that spins without warning and changes lives. My _other_ grandmother used to tell me that the future was written in the stars and that if we could only decipher it right, we'd know everything that was going to happen and prevent the end of the world. She was a bit mad.

But then, we all are, aren't we?

Fiyero

----

Dear Fiyero

Elphie once told me that she wanted to believe that anything was possible, so I suppose she wouldn't agree with either of your Grandmothers. What scares me is that she really does believe it. Like, anything _including _breaking the law! That's what I don't understand. Was she always bad? Was there something inside her that was just…not right all her life and then it suddenly came out? Or did she somehow _get_ bad? Like I said in my last letter, that's what I'm afraid of because then it means that it was my fault. I made her into someone who could defy the Wizard and break the law because I wasn't nice enough to her at school.

I'm not a bad person, Fiyero! Really. She's always been like that; remember when she threw a fit when they took Dillamond away? And she thought he might be innocent? I should have known from that; I should have guessed. But I was too stupid to realize that my friend – my best friend – was turning into a criminal.

Do we get to choose who we'll be? Can someone choose to ignore all limits of morality, all human laws? It's a horrible, unthinkable thing to do. But in spite of that, I miss her. I suppose that makes me a bad person too, somehow. Because I sympathize with anarchy. Oh dear.

A quizzical, Glinda

----

Dear Glinda

I wonder…does Elphaba running off like that make her irredeemably evil? The laws are good, obviously, and so breaking the law is bad, obviously, but… Ah, damn. That's the problem. Everything balances. It's an historical thing as much as anything else: you define one thing and you also define its converse, maybe because as a people we're so obsessed with duality. So if you have Good, you also have Bad. Law and Anarchy. And it must be terribly binding if you're a person who doesn't like to be defined, or can't be, don't you think?

Maybe Elphaba is flying solo because of the choices she made, that piled onto each other and took on their own momentum, pushing her towards one particular end. It could be completely random. But you know what I think? I think that Morrible created a role for Elphaba: Good Witch (and Assistant to the Wizard). Turning it down was unthinkable. But when they created a Good Witch slot, they also created its converse, Bad Witch. And Elphaba, being Elphaba, picked the opposite, the unthinkable, just because it _was_ the opposite. Not because she's Bad, but because she couldn't bear the thought of being Good. See what I mean? She's not inherently Bad (she can't be. You don't believe that, no matter how much you go on about obeying the laws, I know you don't!), she just can't be Good. She's not definable in sets of two but demands the middle. And it's our problem that we don't have one to offer. Arrogant, yes. Rude, certainly. But Bad? No, I don't think so. But then I'm descended from a long line of civil disobedience, so I expect I have a different understanding of the whole thing. They say that laws in Winkie Country only get obeyed when the police can see the citizens.

About fate though…that's a hard one. I suppose I'm used to thinking of myself in complete control; I'd like to believe that I had some part in creating what I am and what impression I leave on the world. Like Elphaba, I want there to be free will, and to know that the future can't be predicted. Because, scary as an undetermined future is, it means I won't turn into a stodgy banker like my father, a fate which I would like to avoid as much as humanly possible.

Fiyero

----

Fiyero rested his elbows on the window sill and looked the bridge leading to Kiamo Eiver. The air had a rain-washed appearance, everything freshly wet and blinking under a tentative sun. Rainbows glimmered in the puddles on the gravel and in the corner of Fiyero's eyes. It was beautiful, strange weather. Used to the northern weather patterns, he knew this shy, sweet mood wouldn't last. The next summer thunderstorm would be here in a few weeks and then it would be back to the grinding humidity and sameness. Out in the distance he could see a carriage coming closer and closer. Yes, there it was. He pulled back and went downstairs to stand by the door with his mother.

The girl who got out of the coach was slight and delicate, like a Gillikin china shepherdess and, despite the warm weather, wrapped in a heavy jacket. Fiyero held up his hand and helped her alight. "Hullo," he said simply.

"Hullo," said Glinda Arduenna, and burst into tears.

"Sshh, calm down." Supporting her, he walked them both into the house. "Glinda, this is the Mater, Lennarat Tiggular. Mater, this is Glinda Arduenna of the Upperuplands. You used to play bridge with her mother at college, I think."

"So I did." Mrs. Tiggular raised her eyebrow at her son over the girl's head and he removed his arm. "Are you all right dear? I've never seen my son make a girl cry before."

"Oh!" Glinda tipped a pale, tear-stained face up to Mrs. Tiggular. "I'm so sorry; I'm being horribly rude – I seem to do that a lot these days." She sniffed into her handkerchief. "But Fiyero hasn't done anything to me! I've just been very…lonely this summer, and seeing an old friend is a bit of," Glinda made an effort and stopped crying, more or less. "A shock." She swallowed. "I _do _beg your pardon, because I did want to make a good impression, I really did."

"Glinda's been sick, Mater," said Fiyero. "She's here –"

"Yes, Yero, I remember why she's here." Lennarat gave her son another reproving look. "I do not forget _everything_ you tell me." She looked at her son's guest and said, "Make no mistake, Miss Glinda; you're perfectly welcome here and I will endeavour to keep Fiyero from being too rambunctious during your convalescence."

Glinda summoned a smile and said, prettily, "Thank you so much, Mrs. Tiggular."

She spent the next few weeks resting in a suite of rooms facing south-east, high-ceilinged and furnished in pale blue and silver. Fiyero joined her for much of the day, playing cards and making extravagant jokes. He fed her sour-sweet lemonade and little crumbling biscuits; fruit and chilled coffee; conversation, attention, and a listening ear. They didn't talk about Elphaba – neither of them could bear it – but they talked about everybody else. Light conversation, to match the room and warm breezes that drifted in the window and spiraled around Glinda's curls. Mrs. Tiggular joined them in the evenings, when Glinda came downstairs for dinner and then, later, as she felt stronger, played music for them. Noran, also home, listened as appreciatively as his wife, and Fiyero could feel their approval of this delicate, pretty creature gracefully taking the place of the daughter they never had.

-----

Late August sun skimmed the grasses around Kiamo Eiver and coaxed the flowers out. "I'm going home tomorrow," said Glinda. "I'll be sorry to leave."

"We'll be sorry to see you go," said Fiyero politely. He looked at her, and she looked back. There was something that wanted to be said, but Fiyero didn't want to say it here. Not inside. "Come with me?"

"Why, yes."

He lead her up the winding stairs into the attics of the castle, full of old furniture and things that Lennarat didn't want in her house. They trailed through old bookshelves and boxes and, draped in white cloth, a cradle. Under the skylight, Fiyero stopped and climbed onto a trunk. He pushed the glass up, letting in a bright beam of light. Then he hopped down. "Stay there." Glinda moved backwards, watching him. Fiyero piled boxes up like stairs and skipped up them, half vanishing in the light. He turned, then, and held out a hand. "Here, come up."

"Is it safe?"

"Of course." The fingers waggled. "There's a bar and everything."

Glinda climbed up the steps, took his hand, and stepped out onto the roof of Kiamo Eiver. "Oh," she gasped, and for a moment couldn't say anything else. "It's – astonishing."

"It is, isn't it?" Fiyero took her arm and led her gently to the rail. From the top of the castle, they could see the south-east rolling away before them. "Look that way: there's the Uplands. I bet if I had a spyglass – which I don't, unfortunately – we could see your house." He pointed.

Glinda laughed. She looked around at him. "Your home is beautiful, Fiyero."

"That's what it means, Kiamo Eiver," he agreed. He found her hands and took them. "You like it?"

"Yes," she said, looking up. "Yes, I do."

"Good." He smiled at her. "The Parents really do think you're wonderful, by the way. The Mater's always wanted a girl, but they'll settle for a nice daughter-in-law."

"Yes, I – Your mother said something earlier. I wondered – ?"

"Mmm," said Fiyero, tucking her hands under his chin. "They did have a girl after I was born – Idyll – but she died when I was only three."

"Oh, I'm so sorry!"

Fiyero shrugged. "I don't actually remember it – I was too small. But the Mater misses her. I think, when she sees you she thinks about Idyll…" He squeezed her hands. "It's the past; it doesn't matter. The point is, the Mater loves you. So does the Pater, incidentally." He smiled at her infectiously, lifted her hands, kissed them, and let them go.

She dimpled at him. She was less of a coquette than usual; he wasn't sure if this was because she'd been ill or because she was a guest. Or was it because she actually cared? "And you?"

Fiyero opened his mouth. Shut it. Finally he said, "I should think that would be fairly obvious. I – What are you doing next year?"

Glinda turned away a little to look at the green hills rolling towards a green city. "I'm going to Finishing School in Gillikin, I think. Madam Morrible's provisionally offered me a job with the Wizard's Administration, but Momsy and Madam think I need proper polish first. So I'm going to get polished. But in a few years…" She smiled. "What about you?"

Fiyero shrugged. "Likewise. It's either the Army or the Bankers, and I'm pulling for the Army, mostly because it's _not_ the Bankers. I'll start as a minor officer, probably, but then there's promotion, parades, parties, fancy uniforms…" He grinned down at her. "It'll be fun, probably."

"Be careful," said Glinda. "All the girls who read _Ozmopolitan_ will recognize you. Prince Charming."

He laughed. "True. I'll have to beat them off with a stick."

"All of them?" Her eyelashes fluttered.

"Nooo," Fiyero admitted. "Just most of them." He was standing behind her and, thoughtfully, wrapped his arms around her waist. She leaned back against him and Fiyero rested his chin on her head. She was a little too short for this to be extremely comfortable, but it would do. They stood that way for a long time, watching the sunshine on the colours of Oz below them. Finally, Fiyero moved and said softly, "Look, Glinda, this isn't the time to talk about…about anything, but shall we pick this conversation up, in, say, five years?"

Glinda turned in his arms to face him and tipped her face up. "Yes," she said. "Yes, I'd like that."

"Good. Count on it." He leaned forward and kissed her, gently. Her lips were soft, like her hair and her body, near his. Soft and sweet and generous. He was fairly sure, at that moment, that he did love her.


	9. Flying High

**(A/N)** _I own very little in this. Obviously I don't own Wicked, and the the end of Boq's letter is quoted from Don DeLillo's play "Valparaiso." This chapter is dedicated to **Kennedy Leigh Morgan**, who reviews, as far as I can tell, every single chapter of every single story posted in this section and who said ages ago on a forum board that she wished there were more stories set between Defying Gravity and Thank Goodness. This one, then, is for her._

Fiyero won the family debate and joined the Officer's Corps of the Oz Army. And so, in September, he stood in another blandly institutional room putting away his shirts. He heard the door open. "Reminds you of college, doesn't it?"

"I wasn't this tidy at college," said Fiyero morosely. He turned. "Hello."

A tall young man, dark haired and gangly and snub-nosed, was standing in the doorway, arms crossed. He gave Fiyero a once over and said, "So _you're_ Fiyero Tiggular."

"Yes I am." Fiyero stood up, unreasonably annoyed that this scornful gentleman was so tall. "You look familiar; were you at Oz Army School?" The other man shook his head. Fiyero cocked on eyebrow. "Do you want me to sign something?"

The man's eyes blazed and then, astonishingly, he laughed, dispelling the tension in the air. "No, it's all right. I've got your signature already." He put out a hand. "Vessery Kareln. I think I'm your roommate."

"Nice to meet you. Kareln? Related to –"

"Maddic Kareln who runs your column in the _Emerald City Weekly_? Yes. I'm his son."

Fiyero laughed. "That's why you look familiar. He didn't say he had a son."

"He tends to think of me," said Vessery Kareln, "as still in my chrysalis. Someday I'm going to turn into a butterfly and be a real human being, but right now I'm…"

"Still a larvae?" Fiyero finished. "Interesting. Mad Maddic didn't seem to have a biological turn of mind, but you'd know better."

Vessery shrugged. "Parents." Fiyero scowled in sympathy. "He stays out of my business, I stay out of his. It's quite simple."

It was. Fiyero slotted neatly into the social life of the Emerald City, alongside old friends and new. Crope and Tibbett popped up at odd moments: Crope was doing something slightly shady that involved renting pleasure boats and Tibbett was buying for an art gallery. It figured, Fiyero thought, that those two would end up with strange jobs. Avaric, poor bugger, had been forced to go into Banking and was having a miserable time of it. On the other hand, there were Fiyero's brother officers, Vessery and Nichol and all the other idle young men who joined the army because they had nothing better to do.

One year went by, full of dances and parties and various duties. Fiyero exchanged a few letters with Glinda, but he was never sure if he stopped writing before or after the little pink missives stopped arriving. Boq wrote occasionally, though his letters were short and didn't say much. Shen-Shen and Avaric split up by letter and the world shook. They each recovered quickly, though, and Shen, engaged to the son of a Gillikinese merchant, came to the City once to tell Avaric about it and then spent most of the evening on Fiyero's sofa crying. Vessery, who had his heart broken by beautiful women approximately once a month, was most consoling. Milla was teaching little girls in a Northern Munchkin school and angling for the Headmaster, Shen had said. But it was some two and a half years after their graduation from Shiz that Fiyero heard about the Witch for the first time.

-----

"You're back!" The young soldier bounced up from his seat, waving enthusiastically. "Your hair's got long and you're a bit thin, but you're back. Father _will_ be glad – he's annoyed he couldn't do your column while you were away."

"Vessery." Fiyero hugged the man and slapped him on the shoulder. "Vessery Kareln. How _are_ you?"

"We've been lonely for six months, Fiyero my lad," said Avaric, hugging his friend in turn. "How was the south?"

"Dead boring, if the truth be told." Fiyero sat down. "Although the governor had an awfully pretty wife."

"Really?" Vessery rolled his eyes. "It figures – all of us get posted to the middle of nowhere, and you find one with a bird to tumble, you bastard."

"I'm lucky," said Fiyero. "What can I say?"

"Well, first you can tell us why your uniform's not in regulation."

"Eh?" Fiyero took a swig from his glass and sighed in contentment. "Ah, proper Emerald City swill beer. I've missed it."

"But it's terrible."

"I know." He put the glass down. "That's what I missed. You get tired of good beer after a while. Oh, that?" He grinned, indicting the new strips over his heart. "Shame on you for not knowing. I've been transferred to the Guards."

"Well, damn," said Vessery, scowling. "Wish I could get transferred."

Fiyero shrugged and propped his feet up on the table. "Helps if you're handsome." He took another long pull from his mug. It really was terrible; perhaps it required water from the Emerald River to make proper City beer; he'd never figured that out.

"Just because some bored Munchkin woman likes you doesn't mean you'll fly here, bucko."

"Hasn't been a problem before," said Fiyero. He grinned. Bad beer and women jokes – he'd missed this.

"So, Fiyero," said Avaric leaning forward. "Can _you_ tell us about this witch character?"

"The Witch, Av," corrected Vessery. "Not just any old P-faither."

"I don't know what you're talking about," said Fiyero. "I've been in the back of beyond for six months watching Munchkins and being bored out of my skull. No one mentioned any witches, or at least they didn't get into the paper."

"Well," said Vessery, "three months ago there were some problems in Guellen, down by the Quadling border. Somebody blew up a chunk of the Yellow Brick Road."

"Really?"

"Yes." Vessery leaned closer. The other two men copied him. "According to the Commander, they arrested a vagrant Chimp but someone broke him out of jail. They left a sign that said, 'Animals should be seen and not heard.' It exploded when the guard tried to get it out of the jail. It blew his hand off."

"But why call a terrorist a witch?" asked Fiyero.

"Well, obviously she can do magic," said Avaric brusquely.

"How do you know it's a woman?" insisted Fiyero. "Besides, it was probably more explosives that blew up that sign, not magic."

"Here's the thing," Vessery's voice dropped, "the guard at the prison says he saw a woman in black with a cloak. Hence witch."

"She's been seen again, after that," said Avaric, also low-voiced. "No one knows where she comes from, or why she does what she does. It's completely irrational, mindless danger."

"What does she actually _do_?" asked Fiyero, riveted.

"Blows things up, mostly. There was a Processing Station just on the other side of the Quadling border. It wasn't very nice, I hear."

"What wasn't?"

"Well, what the station was doing, for one. Then one day a delivery man came back and said the whole place was a ruin; all the Animals were gone, and the workers had been locked in the cages." Avaric swallowed. "They were all dead."

"Sweet Lurline!" Fiyero let out a long breath. "Why didn't I hear about this?"

"Too busy tumbling other people's wives," said Avaric, and pushed him, and the conversation returned to more normal topics.

-----

"_Do_ try some; I don't care for it, but Lavinia thinks it's lovely."

"Really, Fiyero, it's worth it." The two girls smiled encouragingly at him.

"No, don't." Avaric shook his head emphatically. "Disgusting – far too bitter."

"Oh, all right." Fiyero reached forward and took a small bit of the crumbling mass in Bella's hands. Bella Twidmiller, the silly girl who had written him love-letters and pursued him for most of his final year at Shiz, had turned into a most intriguing Emerald City debutante. And her friend Lavinia, a languid girl with the exotic looks of a part-Quadling, was possibly the most beautiful thing in the Emerald City that spring. He put it in his mouth. It was chocolate: bittersweet and thick and unlike the chocolate he was used to. "It's interesting," he said, finally. _Black as midnight, sweet as sin_.

Lavinia laughed. "Black as midnight, Father says. Mother doesn't like it, but she gets it shipped up by the boxful to impress people." She shrugged, smooth as poured caramel. "I like a little of it, now and then." She took a piece herself and put it slowly into her mouth. Fiyero gave her half a smile to show her effort had not gone unnoticed. The taste of the chocolate lingered in his mouth. It reminded him of something; a taste or a moment or a sound that had the same bittersweet surprise of that bit of chocolate. He wished he could remember what it was.

"Have you heard the latest gossip from the south?" Vessery joined them. He knew everything because his father knew everybody.

"No. Is it bad?" Bella caught her breath.

"What is it?" Lavinia took her friend's hand.

"I bet it's the Witch again," said Avaric, bored. He had less interest in the Witch than the Army which was supposed to deal with her and tried to impress girls by being blasé. Since it was fashionable right now to be afraid of the Witch, the scheme backfired and Avaric spent a significant amount of time sulking.

"You're right." Vessery paused. "They've got more information. When they talked to the survivors of the latest attack, he said he'd seen three Goats and a woman in black –"

"Oh, God!" interrupted Avaric. "A woman in black! Imagine that."

"A woman in black," Avaric continued dramatically, "with a pointed hat and a _green face_."

Avaric and Fiyero stared at each other, dragged suddenly, sharply into the moment. "Sweet Lurline!" Fiyero got out eventually. "Elphaba? Is the_Witch_?"

"I suppose so." Avaric looked startled as well.

"I don't –" Fiyero shook his head. "I don't know what to say to that. It's insane. Crazy. Absolutely barking _mad_."

"Well, so is she," Avaric pointed out.

"Very likely, but –" Fiyero remembered then what the chocolate reminded him of. It made him think of Shiz, and a girl hanging out of a train window to take a parcel from a cocky boy. The bittersweet taste of life changing when you weren't paying attention. _Safe journey, Elphaba Thropp_.

Bella suddenly gripped Fiyero's arm. "Look," she said, pointing. "There's Madam Morrible. I didn't know she was at this party."

"Neither did I," said Fiyero. He grinned at Bella. "I'm still afraid of her; are you?"

"Absolutely petrified," the girl admitted. "Oooh, here, she's coming this way and she's got someone with her." Bella shuddered. "I don't want to meet anybody that goes around with _her_. I'm going off to powder my nose. Lavvie, darling?"

"All right." Lavinia moved away after her friend, and Fiyero glanced at a mildly confused Vessery. "Headmistress at Shiz, if you were wondering. She's quite intimidating, especially now she's Press Secretary."

"Um, Fiyero?"

"What?" Fiyero popped another bit of chocolate into his mouth.

"That woman has got the most beautiful creature on two legs following her."

"Oh?"

"She looks like…" Vessery flushed. "She looks like Lurline, come to Earth."

"You're joking." Fiyero turned, just as Madam Morrible pushed through to them. He bowed. "Madam. How good to see you again. You always bring back happy memories of Shiz."

"And you, Mister Tiggular. I hear you're becoming a fine solider."

"I certainly hope so."

Madam Morrible bared her teeth and said, "Speaking of happy memories, Mr. Tiggular, I'd like you to meet our newest attaché." She stepped aside. "I assume you need no introduction."

Glinda had said she was going to school to get polished. She had, Fiyero thought dizzily, certainly been polished. She glittered at every angle and facet, this small, sparkling person who called light from all the candelabras to glance off her necklace, her wand, the tiara in her carefully curled hair. She held herself differently – taller and straighter, and her dress was no longer a debutante's frock but a princess's gown, a wide-skirted bell of blue satin and white lace that brushed the floor. And her hair had changed: the waves and loose curls she had worn as a student were replaced by rigidly trained corkscrews that hung evenly around her face. She held out a gloved hand and said, "Fiyero, darling. How have you been?"

"Well enough," he said, recovering from the surprise and raising the hand to his lips. "I see you really _have_ been polished."

She gigged and it was almost the gurgle he remembered. "And you've been turned into a dashing young soldier."

"So I have. Here, this is another dashing young soldier. Vessery Kareln, Glinda Arduenna."

"Always pleased to meet a friend of Fiyero's," said Glinda graciously. Vessery, transfixed, kissed her hand.

Mouth bitter with chocolate and mind dizzy with the return of both Elphaba and Glinda so dangerously changed, Fiyero asked Glinda to dance. She accepted.

-----

As an attaché, Glinda was a raving success. She sparkled, she gleamed, she glittered. She was capable of listening attentively, patting children on the head, and dancing until the early hours of the morning. She was always perfectly-dressed, and soon enough had joined Fiyero on Maddic Kareln's list of young Emerald City names he liked to feature in his magazine. Soon after that, Fiyero and Glinda were featured together in a weekly column where they talked about fashions and culture and what to do in the city. They were perfect, as Maddic kept telling them. Absolutely perfect. Another year passed. Fiyero turned twenty-four and threw himself a gigantic party. His parents hinted, rather strongly, that he should consider getting married. Then he was promoted to Captain of the Guards, and they suggested even more strongly. Under Fiyero, the world shifted along fault lines he had perhaps sensed but refused to recognize.

For instance, the day he kicked his boots off and dropped into a chair to read a letter from Boq. It was standard Boq fare: short, direct sentences for a rather boring topic. Usually Boq's prose was uninspiring, but here, somehow, the simple phrases achieved an awkward lyricism, raw and painful. _Governor Thropp died when it became common knowledge that Elphaba was the Witch. They say it was of a broken heart, but it was more likely embarrassment. It seems like the sort of thing he would do._ A little bit father down the page, _Of course they offered Nessa the position and of course she was happy to accept. She likes governing so very much. I am her Chamberlain now, but what I really do is more like Butler or gentleman-in-waiting. I'm jealous, sometimes, of you and Avaric when I read about you in the papers._

Most painful was the end, where Boq stopped his somewhat tedious discussion of the drop in corn prices and wrote, the letters digging into the heavy paper even more than usual, _Can you be in love with two people at one? If anybody would know that, it would be you. At Shiz sometimes I wondered which one you liked better, Galinda or Elphaba. But now I guess I know, don't I? I'm in love too, Fiyero, and it hurts. There's this shape far away, behind my eyes during the night. And then there's the shape in front of me. It sounds stupid, I know, but I could never be romantic. I'm just nice. I've loved Glinda ever since I came to Shiz and realized that she was everything that a girl should be. But Nessa loves me, which is harder. Because at the beginning, I think I did love her. I loved a girl with big eyes and a pink ribbon in her glossy brown hair. Now she's serious and wears black all the time. Now I love Nessa in the sorest way possible, in the deepest, aching grain of my body. But there are times I can't bear to see her, and I am appalled at my failure to be generous._ Fiyero put the letter down slowly. Boq. Oh, Boq. Fiyero felt an overwhelming sense of pity for his friend, and under that, confusion for himself.

-----

Another month. Another night. Someone knocked on the door. "Sir! Commander wants to see you!"

Fiyero rolled out of bed thanking the Unnamed God that he didn't have a hangover for once. Because five in the morning was bad enough sober. "Yes?" He dragged a jacket around his shoulders and blinked at Big Nichol, fellow guard and the chief's messanger.

"You're wanted in the office," said Big Nichol. "I think it's bad."

"I'm coming." Fiyero buttoned his jacket as he hurred down the hall after the other man.

It was bad. The Commander-in-Cheif of the Wizard's Forces handed a sheaf of reports to Fiyero and said, "There's been a distress call from the Kennt Detention Centre an hour and half south of the City. Take a squad down there and investigate."

"Yes, sir." Fiyero saluted. Part of his job as Captain of the Guard was knowing what wasn't said. He accepted the papers with a hollow feeling in his stomach because in this case he knew exactly what the Commander wasn't saying. He _wasn't_ saying, "it's the witch." He _wasn't _saying, "this is an emergency." He _wasn't_ saying, "get all the animals who escaped that you can find and shoot them." And there _wasn't_ a chance that Elphaba might be out there, somehow, waiting to be caught and brought to justice. There _wasn't_ a chance it could be somehow Fiyero's fault if she were captured or unjured.

Fiyero left the office. "Are we going somewhere?" Big Nichol, lounging outside the room, looked up hopefully.

"Yes," said Fiyero. "Call up a squad, would you? I'll find Vessery."

And so he ended up on the road to Kennt with Big Nichol and Vessery beside him. They'd been through training together, and pure luck combined with family connections meant that Fiyero got promoted first. But it was an unspoken rule that they worked together on all excursions. The rickety carraige Vessery was driving went around a corner and Verssery said, "Oh dear…"

Fiyero looked up from his dispatches. To call the Kennt Centre a building, he thought, was degrading the field of architecture. It was properly a heap of smoking rubble. Vessery stopped the carriage and the officers got out. Behind them, the privates disembarked. "Right then," said Fiyero, looking over the ten-man squad. "I want a full recon and basic once-over, gentlemen. Anything you find out, I want to know. Especially about how the fire was set and when."

The soliders moved off, little ghosts of ash following them. Fiyero looked at Big Nichol and Vessery. "Split up, I think?" he said. The other two nodded. Fiyero walked forward into the destruction. Here and there, a wall, ankle or hip high. A few bricks had escaped, but not too many. It had been an extraordinarily hot fire. Out back where the cages would have been was nothing. Fiyero knelt in the ash and sifted it through his gloved fingers. His knees would be stained white now, as well as his fingers. The ash was insidious stuff. There were cinders and melted metal, but no bones which suggested that the Animals had gotten out before the fire started. How, he wondered. A rebellion? Keys in the hand of a figure who flitted from pen to pen and then casually burned an entire station of civil servants alive?

Walking back to the main compound, Fiyero found his answer. Or rather, he nearly tripped over it. "Fiyero –" said Vessery, face pale and sick. Fiyero looked down. It was a dead soldier – unrecognizable except for the dull blue uniform with its diagonal green stripe. A uniform identical to the one so many other men wore. The face was entirely anonymous. It was dead, for one thing. Dead and twisted into an ugly rictus. The eyes, blank green, were open and staring at Fiyero as though they wanted him to answer a question. Fiyero knelt and smoothed dark hair away from brow, closing the eyes.

"What killed him?" Fiyero forced himself to be objective and pay attention.

"I don't know," said Vessery.

"Strychnine," said Big Nichol. His face was hard but calm. "Died of convulsions and asphyxiation. They all did." There was a a flurry of footsteps and the sound of Vessery being sick.

"Unnamed God have mercy," whispered Fiyero automatically. "Nichol, would you get some of the men who can keep their heads and gather up all the," he gestured helplessly at the dead solider. Big Nichol nodded.

"Sir Captain?" One of the privates hovered at Fiyero's shoulder. He turned. "Sir, we've found something you should see."

_Is it worse than this_? Fiyero wondered. He followed the man around the corner and into the area where the office of the director might have been. And stopped. It was not quite worse than a dead body, but deeply grotesque. In the midst of the burnt field, someone had recreated a lounge with a sofa, a table, a bookshelf with a line of books. There was even a decanter on the table, full of golden liquid. Fiyero walked forward into the space. A ghost room, he thought. The furniture must have been taken out beforehand and then replaced. Unless…unless there was magic involved and the caster of the spell had specifically _not_ burned these objects. He shivered.

The bookshelf contained nothing of value – popular novels and journals. Except…at the end of the shelf after the books stopped, there was what looked like a small pile of rubbish. A bit of crumpled paper and a handful of glass fragments. He picked one up and held it to the faded light. It was clear glass, flecked with bubbles, and shaped to follow the curve of his hand. At the top was a green diamond. Fiyero put it down quickly, horrible and terrifying suspicion rising in his throat. He thought that, like Vessery, he might be sick. The other bits of glass showed him other diamonds. The paper, when he pulled it out from the pile of glass, was a flimsy, cheap brand with an anti-Wizard pamphlet printed on it. In the margins of the text, there was a message written in emerald coloured ink, the letters so crabbed and small that it might have been scribbling. Unless you knew how to read that hand. _As you can see, it broke. I am very sorry for that._ Fiyero closed his hand involuntarily, and the sharp edges of broken glass dug into his palm. Elphaba had been here. He'd been half sure, half doubting, and all in all more comfortable with his ignorance and absolute knowledge. It was easy to doubt Vessery's gossip, but not Elphaba herself. She had a way of being aboslutely believable, even from a distance. So. Now he knew. Elphaba had poisoned and blown up an entire Detention Centre, and then she had left him a message. He wasn't sure which fact disturbed him more.


	10. Road of Good Intentions

**(A/N) **_Early update! Because it got written this weekend (don't ask me how). A few of you have commented about the end of chapter 9. The truth is that I'm stupid and didn't realize that everything said about Elphaba at the beginning of "Thank Goodness" was supposed to be lies; book-inspired, I assumed she must have done something to warrant the fear that people feel. And the only things she blows up are places that condone Animal cruelty – from one point of view, she's being Good, not Bad (author points to titles of nine and ten and courteously reminds all readers of the literary device of irony). And there's something very compelling about the idea of Elphaba and high explosives; I'm glad so many of you liked that. This chapter shows the reasons why you should not let me go to artsy theatre performances – they invariably creep into my writing. This one was planned and then got a late addition from the aforementioned theatre and a suggestion from **Yero my Hero** and **Kennedy Leigh Morgan** who wanted to see more Elphaba. Standard "don't own it" jokes apply, here more than ever. Points to the person who can find the explicit Maguire paraphrase (it's one of my favourite lines in the book)._

Fiyero took time off and went home to Kiamo Eiver in the late spring. Standing on the roof looking south, he remembered that he'd given Glinda five years and that, amazingly enough, that time had almost passed. He sighed. His fate, that he'd wanted control of for some stupid reason, was stretched directly out in front of him like the Yellow Brick Road. No choice, no options. His job was to talk to the magazine, squire Glinda at parties, fetch refreshments, run errands for his superiors. He was, quite literally, dancing through life. It was less fun than he'd anticipated. And, in the next year, he would marry Glinda, make his parents proud. And someday, he too would live in Kiamo Eiver and discipline his pretty, lazy children. He turned away and walked around the roof to look West instead. For no reason except that it wasn't East. He watched the thunderheads build over the Northern Vinkus and, when it began to rain, gave up and went into the attic.

_It broke. I am very sorry for that_. What, Fiyero wondered, did she mean by that? The bottle he had given her was broken. A friendship was broken. Two, really. A whole camp of people were broken. Was she sorry for what she was doing? Sorry because she had a choice? Sorry because she _didn't_ have a choice? Fiyero dropped to his knees and opened the nearest trunk, a battered object with dirty words carved into the top. Excusable - he had owned it for a long time. He didn't use it anymore, but he had, at the end of his final year of Shiz, thrown all the bits and pieces from college into this elderly trunk. He hadn't opened it since but now he plunged his hands into the debris and pulled. He found mostly paper: class notes, compositions that slid sideways out of books, an invitation to a Crage dance, a newspaper clipping about Avaric winning an Athletics Prize, old trinkets, sheaves of letters he had received. He leaned back against the attic wall and, with the _pitter-patter_ of rainwater for company, he read them all: Avaric's big scrawl, Boq's painfully careful hand, Glinda's (ah, but she was _Ga_linda then) curly letters on pink paper, Elphaba's terrible wiggling words. At the bottom of the trunk he fished out a hair ribbon and blue-bound book with faded gold lettering: _The Theory of Names_, by F.E. Weiboldt. "I'm sorry for it too," said Fiyero to his dusty attic.

He dreamed of Elphaba that night. She was standing on a roof, the wind blowing her cloak back from her shoulders. He couldn't see her face, only the silhouette of the Witch, with the tall hat, her long hair and a broom in one hand. He was trying to climb the roof towards her, but he couldn't make it up, and even if he did, he was so afraid that he would fall. Because unlike her, he couldn't fly. He could only sit in the "v" formed by the roof and look up at her. He woke up with Vessery's voice in his ears. "Irrational… dangerous…mindless…_wicked_."

It rained again the next day and Fiyero, bored, went to the library. He found, and forced himself to concentrate on, a very old book called _Subduing the Winkie Territory and the 1326 Campaign._ It was old and boring and highly biased, but Fiyero found it interesting in spite of that. He'd used it for his degree paper at Shiz and felt a certain fondness for it both because of that and simply because it was one of the first places in Royalist records that the historical Fiyero was mentioned. He flipped a page, trying to pay attention to the life of a forgotten thirteenth-century terrorist instead of the hypotheticals of a living one. _As you can see, it broke_. Fiyero scowled. "Why?" The library, quiet like the attic did not answer. Everyone was justified to themselves, of course. He'd learned in school (Shiz and elsewhere) about the glorious conquering of the barbarian Winkies by various brave Ozmas and their equally brave troops. But he'd learned from his own relatives the opposite: the romantic stories of fighters for independence and a government that didn't involve a shadowy, corrupt monarchy hundreds of miles away.

The Bad Guy was only the Bad Guy if you looked at him from the perspective of the Good Guy. What, Fiyero wondered, if you were smart enough to turn around and take the perspective of the Bad Guy in the first place? Then what happened? He thought of fairy tales; Lurline helping the third sister marry the prince, or Kumbrica in her house on chicken legs, flying through the sky in her mortar and pestle. That wasn't right either; and besides, just because a person did Good didn't mean they were completely likeable. Look at the Morrible, for Oz's sake. What if Lurline was a self-absorbed brat as well as motivating Good things? And what about Kumbrica, paranoid, unhappy, unhinged, and desperately lonely, as well as Bad? She was only bad if you were a Unionist, Fiyero decided. From any other point of view – including that of a culture that didn't believe in her in the first place – there was nothing particularly wrong with Kumbrica or the Pleasure-faithers. He looked back down at his book. Had fairy tales ruined his morality? A voice that sounded like Glinda's suggested that he didn't have much morality to start with. Nor did he do an awful lot of thinking. _Some claim that the outlaw Fiyero lived in the hills with a band of followers, waylaying travelers and giving their money to starving Winkie citizens, while the popular beliefs of the Plaris region state that he is a gallant nobleman in disguise. But we know better than to believe this fiction. Fiyero was simply one of a cowardly organization that attacked through tricks and the killing of the innocent instead of fighting like men_.

The Fiyero in the present scowled and stared out of the window. He thought about Ozma Gloriosis and her councilors, and the Wizard and his Press Secretary and pretty young attaché. He thought about the meaning of names and about how history went in cycles. He thought about terrorists and politics and warfare and military strategy. He thought about how much strychnine you'd need to poison a well. He wondered if he would have been able to kill someone who'd hurt Daphnus and Chloe. He wondered what had happened to them. The rain fell patiently on the Northern Vinkus, and Fiyero thought about a lot of things.

-----

Back in the city, Fiyero didn't do so much thinking. It was a lot easier to live, there, than think. Besides, the Witch was still at large and hadn't done anything particularly threatening in a while. Maybe, Fiyero thought once, she had retired.

"I'm bored," said Fiyero. Most of their conversations started that way. Avaric and Vessery looked at him expectantly. They were walking through the streets, lightly inebriated in the dark purple twilight. "I wonder –" he began.

"Look," said Vessery, pointing. "Pleasure boats."

"Where?" Fiyero looked. "Oh, that'll be exciting. Want to go out on the river?"

"Haven't got enough money," said Vessery.

"Nor me." Avaric looked pointedly at Fiyero.

"Why buy when we can just…borrow?" Fiyero raised an eyebrow at his two friends. "All right, Vess, you and Av go break into the boathouse; I'll talk to the manager and jump in after."

Vessery laughed. "All right. I'm game."

The two young men moved off into the shadows and Fiyero strode forward. "Renting boats are you, my good man?" he intoned, tapping the proprietor on the shoulder.

There was a slight yelp and a scuffle as someone dived for more shadows and the proprietor turned out to have been two people entwined instead of just one. "I'm not your good man," said a light, somewhat breathless voice, "but can I help you?"

Fiyero opened his mouth and closed it. Then he burst out laughing. Finally he said, to the waiting figure, "_Crope_? Polixenes Crope?"

"Ssssh! Fiyero, you bastard, don't say that where someone can _hear_ you!" Fiyero felt Crope's hands on his shoulders and the shorter man shaking him. "For all practical purposes, _I don't have a first name_!"

"All right, all right." Fiyero detached Crope's hands. "I'm sorry. I was just surprised, that's all. How the hell are you?"

"Managing," said Crope morosely. "Forced to run a boat-rental company, but I'm managing. We can't _all_ be Captain of the Guard, can we?"

"Mmm." Fiyero leaded against the wall waiting for the sign of a boat coming out of the dock. "Why don't you have a first name?" He wondered what sort of shady business Crope had wandered into.

"Because I hate it," said Crope, matter-of-factly. "I avoided it at school too – I wonder how you found out in the first place." Fiyero shrugged evasively.

"Fi-YER-o!" Avaric and Vessery had gotten the boat free and were floating down the river.

Fiyero grinned. "Hello!" He pushed Crope neatly out of the way and jumped. "Thanks, Crope! And you can tell Tibbett to come out of hiding now!"

"Fiyero –" Crope stared blankly at the sight of one of his gondolas sailing away, his school friends waving at him from the back. "You can't do that! There's a –"

"So," said Fiyero turning to the matter at hand. "Who knows how to sail this thing?"

Avaric shook his head. "I'm from Gillikin. We don't have boats there."

"Vess?"

"I'm not great," said Vessery, "but I'll give it a try." He picked up the long pole and took a stand at the front, digging it into the dark water as they moved forward. Fiyero leaned back on the cushions and whistled one of the new songs hawked on broadsheets on the street corners. What they were on was more proper a canal, but it was fun nonetheless, gliding over the water and chatting a bit, then resting silent. Fiyero stared up at the night sky, for once clear, and looked at the pinpricks of stars. In the Vinkus, the stars were huge and close to the Earth, but here the were immeasurably far away. Like being in a gutter, he thought. Forced to always look up because you couldn't really get any farther down.

"Oo-er…" Fiyero remembered, a little too late, that Vessery was a lousy driver and probably also a lousy boat-steerer. He sat up.

"What is it?"

"Bit of a bottleneck," said Vessery nervously. In front of them was indeed a bottleneck: a floating fairground of boats that stretched from one side of the canal to the other, all gently rocking. There was no way this hi-jacked vehicle could get through. A couple of people in the nearest boat were yelling and Vessery panicked, digging his pole deep into the water. Instead of stopping completely, it swung the gondola around sideways, where it struck the nearest boat with a hollow _thunk_. Vessery lost his balance as the gondola rocked. Avaric, drunker than the others and asleep, woke up with a yell. The person yelling was interspersing his tirade with Vinkus invective.

"Hoy!" Fiyero jumped out of his boat and onto the nearest one. "Who's the owner here?"

"I am," said a burly man. He crossed his arms and glared at Fiyero over an impressive moustache. "And I am wanting some repayment for my boat!"

His accent was heavy with Vinkus, although his colouring and use of boats suggested he must be at least part Quadling. Fiyero reached into his purse and placed a handful of coins in the man's hand, tilting his wrist so the diamonds showed. "Payment made and counted," he said in Arjaki. "And my deepest apologies. May we see your carnival?" The owner, flabbergasted, nodded. Fiyero turned. "Vess? Av? Want to have a look around?" The two men jumped over to join him, and they moved into the floating fairgrounds.

It was an enchanted place. Av disappeared into the crowd around the bar and Vess was distracted by a woman in purple silk and very little else, standing on a box and dancing. Fiyero, however, kept walking, curious. There were braziers in every boat, sending plumes of coloured smoke into the sky and taking the chill off the evening, scenting the night with incense, raw and exotic. It was hard to see much, but the cries of the vendors coiled around him like the smoke. "Come buy, come buy, come buy! Apples and quinces, lemons and oranges, plump unchecked cherries, melons and raspberries…come buy!" Fiyero bought a blood-red pomegranate at one of the stalls and at it slowly, watching and listening to the fair around him. He'd never had one before and this was sweet, with a bitter aftertaste. The seeds slid out of the fruit easily and rested on his tongue – sweet only for an instant.

As he was finishing, a man touched his shoulder, half-singing. "Pretty guardsman…There's such a sad look, deep in your eyes, a kind of pale jewel, deep in your eyes…Will the guardsman see a show of juggling and tumbling?" Without giving Fiyero time to answer, the juggler moved away into the crowd. "Follow, follow, follow, follow."

Fiyero followed the pale, exotic figure of the juggler, frosted blond in the whirling colours. The acrobats' boat was even more disorientating than that of the merchants. Girls dressed in red and green and blue and gold twirled around him, tossing their long draperies about his neck and drifting in to kiss him quickly like great butterflies. Silks and satins and heavy brocades billowed around his legs as he pushed past the fortune-telling tents with their wise crones. One old woman, dressed in an ancient costume with a dog at her feet and a grotesque golden wig smiled at him. "Ware fire and water, pretty guardsman," she said, brushing one hand along his cheek as he passed. Fiyero shivered and pulled away. He then flinched the other way as a little pointed knife zipped past his nose. Somewhere, people clapped and a man in black veils glided over the retrieve it. "Thank you for being my demonstration," said the knife-thrower dryly from the midst of his draperies. Fiyero had a brief glance of the ugliest face he'd ever seen.

He pushed through the smoke, looking for the jugglers. He found them eventually, moving from place to place, tossing fruit or knives. A few of them played with clear spheres, letting them dance from hand to hand, from palm to back of the hand. Back and forth and back and forth, weaving through the smoke and mirrors. "She will not come, I know her well, of lover's pain she has no care…what little good a man can tell, of one so cruel and so fair…" A young man danced around him to the sound of a whispery instrument Fiyero didn't recognize, singing and juggling at the same time. A girl caught Fiyero's shoulders, clinging to him. "Shall I tell you a story, guardsman? A story of a prince who learned to play a harp strung with wind. Or a story of a boy looking for his family? A lost bird-boy, friend of swans and geese and kites. Tales of the Dragon Lord or the land of Eternal Winter?"

"No, thank you," said Fiyero vaguely. Someone caught his shoulders, spinning Fiyero away from the girl and blinding him with a fantastical cloak. A Magician, dressed in sleek black, his face impassive behind a white mask, let go eventually and looked down at Fiyero, head cocked to one side. "Some say the world will end in fire, some say in ice. Which is it, young man?"

"I don't know," said Fiyero, blinking at the plain porcelain in front of him. "Which is it?"

The Magician shrugged, his movements liquid and soft as his voice. "From what I've tasted of desire, I hold with those who favour fire." The gloved hands descended on Fiyero's shoulders again and spun him to face away from the rest of the fair, across the rest of the jugglers' raft. And Fiyero's breath slid out of his body in a moment. A single image. A woman with a pyramid of flaming spheres in one hand, twisting them around each other. She could make them float over her hands too with that eerie back and forth motion he'd noticed before. The flames lit her face from the bottom, gilding the long, graceful lines of chin and full mouth, the double slash of sharp cheekbones, and the pools of dark eyes. She was a creature of smoke and shadows, defined by fire and brief points of light and smudges of darkness. She was vibrant, verdant, _beautiful_.

Elphaba.

Fiyero pushed his way through the crowd towards the juggler on the far side, shoving away musicians and dancers and laughing Munchkins in parti-coloured hose. "My time of day is the dark time – when the streetlamp light fills the gutter with gold." Someone was singing somewhere, tossing words to surround Fiyero, trap him, pull him away. A clear voice very near his ear said, "I'll resign myself to a dark world for the sake of five-foot eight of wavering light." He needed to talk to her. He reached the edge of the raft and nearly fell into the water. This was it; the end of the fair. _Where was she_?

"Fiyero." He turned. She was standing there, the fire gone from her hands, barely visible and hatless, long hair coiled around her shoulders.

"Yes?"

"Well?"

"Well what?"

"What do you want?"

"What do _I_ want?" Fiyero stared at her. The anxiety he'd felt turned to anger, sour on his tongue like chocolate or pomegranates. "What do _I_ want? What do you want is more to the point! You leave me a message, you drag me over here to find you, and now you look at me like as though it's my fault!"

"Fiyero, I'm sorry." She looked away as she said it. "I didn't mean to coerce you."

"Yes, you damn well did! I just," Fiyero shook his head. "I'm confused. I wanted to know what you'd become because I hear so many stories about you and they can't all be true. Who _are_ you now? _What_ are you? I was afraid you'd turned into something unrecognizable; something _wrong_ and unnatural."

Elphaba held up one slim, green hand. "Stop that. I was always unnatural; that's hardly a fair accusation. I don't do everything they say I do, but I do some of it. You should know that." Her face was remote. "I can kill a man. Easily. I can make and set explosives. I can light fires and work a printing press. I know how to bring down a ten-man squad of Officers, and I have. And I can juggle." She tossed a few balls in the air and caught them. "I rescue Animals," said Elphaba, looking directly at him. "The Wizard and Morrible call me a Witch because I work against them. I may hurt people, but you know what I'm not, Fiyero? I'm not _cruel_. I don't put Animals in cages smaller than they are. I don't force men to kill other men."

"Can't imagine why not," muttered Fiyero. "Doesn't seem to bother you too much."

"I don't lie to people," she finished. "I _am_ working for good, Fiyero, in my own special way. Is that wrong? To face down an illegitimate government that's marginalizing half of the population? Is that so unnatural? You know civil disobedience; you should have the brains enough to understand."

"And that's what you are now, then? A one-man traveling terrorist band?" Her justification veered a little too near his earlier thought-process and he tried to ignore it. She wasn't sorry, she wasn't repentant. He, on the other hand, paid by conventional morality, had a job to do.

"Is it better than being a pet pretty-boy?" Elphaba spat the 'p's at him. "I'm what I _chose_ to be, which is more than I can say for you. My life is my life. Yours is –"

"What I wanted it to be," interrupted Fiyero. "And unfortunately it's the opposite of yours. You needn't leave any more cards for me; we've got more than enough evidence. When I – when I get my orders to track down a soulless terrorist, I will obey them. Just so you know."

Elphaba tossed her head. "Of course I know. Why do you think I'm talking to you?"

"Can you please be reasonable?" Fiyero reached out, caught her shoulders, and lost her as she vanished in the smoke. "You could –" He turned away and kicked at the closest brazier in frustration. The smoke, bluish-mauve, drifted up around him until he was completely blind. He stumbled a few steps forward, realized he'd lost his direction, and stayed still until a hand reached out of the smoke. "But if it had to perish twice," said a pensive voice, "I think that ice is also great, and would suffice." His rescuer, a plain girl with spectacles and a glittering pendant half-hidden by her long brown hair, lead him across the raft to where Avaric was waiting.

-----

That winter, the Wizard decreed an extra-large celebration for Lurlinemas. Everybody hung up bunting and thronged the streets, despite the fact that the Witch had been blowing things up again, this time between Munchkinland and the Emerald City.

Glinda, icy-perfect, dressed in pale green velvet and a smart little hat, opened the weekend of celebration. Then the Morrible, vast and purple and dangerous, took the stage and announced, in her plummy voice, that Glinda was to be known henceforth as Glinda the Good. Fiyero, watching the crowd, wasn't paying a lot of attention (he never had at Shiz; why should he now, when he was grown up? And he had, after all, plenty of other things to think about), until a few lines caught his ear. "Then, with a jealous scream, the Wicked Witch burst from concealment where she had been lurking!" Fiyero tilted his head. Wicked Witch, was it now? And 'lurking in concealment'? No, not in the slightest. He remember that letter _very_ well.

He caught Glinda's arm. "What was that about Elphaba lurking?" he asked.

She smiled up at him and said under her breath, "Really, darling, you _do_ choose the most awkward times to develop a conscience. It's just a baby lie – they'd all get confused if we told them what really happened. It looks bad for the Wizard, too. He doesn't _make_ mistakes – it's policy. And besides, the Witch is wicked, so it's true _now_."

"It's not a baby lie, Glinda, it's completely false! And this is Elphaba we're talking about, not the Witch." _Elphaba who blows things up. Elphaba who kills people_. And, reluctantly, _Elphaba who juggles fire and watches me like she hopes I'll save her_. That was the hardest thing to forget; the brief glimpse of hope in the dark eyes, quickly covered by anger.

"It's the same thing, and really, it doesn't _matter_," she said, and gave him that neat, glittering smile she kept for public appearances. "Madam Morrible," she added, turning out to the Press Secretary. "I should like make an announcement. For the celebration." The Morrible moved away from the microphone and Glinda walked up to it, still holding onto Fiyero. She cleared her throat and Fiyero was impressed at how quickly the crowd became quiet. "I would like to announce that Fiyero Tiggular, the Captain of the Wizard's Guards, and I have become engaged to be married."

The crowd exploded. Glinda smiled beatifically and waved. And Fiyero only survived the moment because of his training. He too waved, automatically, and pressed Glinda's hand. It was only when the cheers had died down somewhat, and the Morrible was speaking again, that Fiyero pulled Glinda aside. "_What_ was that about?" he demanded, suddenly short of breath.

"What _do_ you mean?" Glinda dimpled at him. "You told me five years, when I was at your beautiful castle. It's nearly five years now, and I thought…we've been so close for such a long time that, I mean, you were going to propose to me _eventually_, weren't you?"

"Yes, of course." His answer was automatic.

"Well, then what's the matter with moving it up a bit?" Her face softened and she clutched his arm. "Fiyero, I do love you. That's absolutely true. I stayed in love with you all through finishing school, and then when I came here and saw you, I knew I wanted to spend the rest of my life with you. You're…perfect."

"You're prefect," Fiyero echoed, mechanically. "We're perfect together." He stared at the made-up face below his, surrounded by its crispy curls and remembered a time when it had been realer, softer. He thought of another face that had never been soft, nor indeed had ever had to look down to see. A face lit by moonlight or fire. "Excuse me," he said abruptly, and left the stage.

"He's gone to fetch me a refreshment," said Glinda cheerfully. "He's so thoughtful that way."

"And when is the wedding to be?" At the question, Fiyero paused. Considering she didn't have a ring yet, it would be interested to see how she answered that one.

"Oh, well, you know we haven't really planned it yet." A little giggle, indicating that she had been distracted by being ever-so-much in love that planning had gone quite out of her head. "I should think in about six months. Spring, maybe. Or summer – I'd like that better."

Summer. Fiyero felt as though he'd just been sentenced.

Later, after all the dancing and champagne and telling people that they had a perfect happy ending, Fiyero went looking for Glinda. He found her in the cloakroom, hands buried deep in her soft brown and gold fur. He knelt beside her. "Glinda?"

She looked at him, said, "Oh, _no_," and turned away, gnawing on her lower lip.

"What is it?"

"Fiyero, do you hate me now? I didn't mean to hurt you, it just seemed right. But I didn't want to make you unhappy…"

"Oh, Glinda…." He gathered her into her arms and kissed her hair. "Of course I'm not _unhappy_. I was just surprised, that's all. You confuse me sometimes, little girl, with your pretty publicity show. I'm never sure which is real Glinda and which is magazine Glinda." She didn't answer. He held onto her a little longer, trying to ignore the jewels digging into his neck.

Glinda sniffed. "Are you happy?"

"Of course. Couldn't be happier." He tipped her face up and kissed her lightly. "Now you need to get happy as well. Here." He rummaged in one of his pockets and dug out a small silver box. "The parents made me take it back here with me for when I did ask, but since it appears that I don't need to anymore, I'd better just give it to you and have done."

"Why…" Glinda took the box. "How decidedly unromantic."

Fiyero laughed. "Oh, all right." He let go of her and squirmed onto his knees. "Galinda Arduenna, may I be so bold as to beg you to accept this ring and with it my hand and fortunes."

Glinda put one hand to her mouth. "Oh, Fiyero! Thank you."

He slipped the box from her hand and opened it, removing the silver ring. It was old, and set with a star of little chips of sapphire and diamond. "No need to thank me, Galoony – you were the one who proposed." She giggled, nervously.

He slid the ring on to her finger and tilted it. "It looks nice, don't you think?" Then he stood and held out his hand. "May I see you home?"

"Yes, please."

They left the cloak-room and a group of well-wishers accompanied then to the coach. He walked her up to her apartment and paused on the doorstep to kiss her. "D'you want me to stay?"

Glinda flushed. "I do and I don't. I think I've been drinking too much. I mean, what will people _say_?"

"They'll say we're engaged, and they'll probably be surprised – if they realize – that we haven't been doing anything before now."

"Of course." Glinda twisted her hands. "I'm tired tonight. Would you mind not – I mean, we have a long time ahead of us, though."

"Yes," said Fiyero, suddenly feeling very tired himself. "Yes we do."

_I rarely create my minor characters; often I'll include people who are the equivalent of a glancing reference or allusion. So most of the people at the fair are characters borrowed from other books; most of what's said at the fair is quotations. In this chapter, you will find a references to: Russian fairy-tales, The Scarlet Pimpernel, Dorothy Dunnett's Lymond Chronicles, The Winter's Tale, Christina Rossetti's "Goblin Market," characters and quotations from the Jim Henson film The Labyrinth, Elizabeth Haydon's Rhapsody trilogy, Oscar Wilde, Patricia McKillip's novel Riddlemaster of Hed, Ursula K. LeGuin's Earthsea books and The Left Hand of Darkness, the Phantom of the Opera, standard Tarot interpretations (if you blinked, you probably missed it), Robert Frost's poem "Fire and Ice," Frank Loesser's song "My Time of Day," Christopher Fry's "The Lady's not for Burning" (slightly mangled), and Neil Gaiman's Sandman series. Just so you know that I didn't make most of that up. Also, spelling errors repaired – this is what happens when I post too soon! At any rate, thank you **Yero**, for finding some of them and insisting on the correct spelling of Arjiki (although I do like Arjaki better…)_


	11. Borrowed Moonlight

**(A/N)** _Thanks for all the lovely reviews I got for chapter ten; I'm glad the Frost worked for all of you. There's a whiff of it here too, but only a small one. Also a whiff of the mangled Fry and a gratuitous Othello quote (and clearly the Wicked characters and situation are not mine). Alors. The end is back! Those who read this when it was a one-shot will remember part of this chapter…it's taken nine chapters, but I've finally gotten back to it. Like Fiyero, I'm going in circles. It feels highly redundant to do yet another Fiyero/Elphaba love scene (we've certainly got enough of them at all ratings), but it's just slightly on the important side of this characterization, so it had to be done (and there is a City of Emeralds quote/paraphrase in there…forgive me. I figured, if Maguire liked it so much that he quoted in one his own books, I have a right to quote it too). And I'm a Fiyerba freak, so I couldn't resist. Do tell me what you think about the resolution and suchlike – I'm a very sentimental person and tend to fall into cliché traps when I write love scenes (err, yes I just told you what happens in this chapter, but if you couldn't tell from the title, you deserve spoilers)._

"No, sorry darling, I have to dance with Nichol for this one."

"But you're my fiancée. What do you mean saying no?" He caught her around the waist and bent her back for a dramatic kiss. The other guests at the ball clapped. Someone whistled.

Glinda slapped at his arms. "Fiyero!" She straightened up, flushed and laughing, half playing the coquette for their audience. "But it's protocol."

"I'm not sure I like any protocol that won't let me dance with the girl I'm engaged to," said Fiyero. He shrugged. "All right, run off and have a good time, little girl." He reached over and pulled one dangling curl. "Don't mind me; I'll be sulking by the punchbowl."

Glinda gave him a peck on the cheek. "When we're married, I'll never leave. I promise."

"I'm sure you won't," Fiyero muttered as he watched her glide away. He sipped at the sweet punch and fought an immature urge to spike it. Pity he was too old for that kind of mischievousness now. One hand strayed to the collar of his uniform. It was too tight, and Glinda was constantly nagging him to get a new one. Too tight…in more ways that one, he thought, undoing the pin that held it closed. Absent-mindedly, he worked his cuffs loose as well; he'd always favoured the disheveled look, but it was more than that. He felt…trapped, almost. Glinda, leading the set, glittered and floated under the lights from place to place like the princess she nearly was in this nominally egalitarian state. Fiyero turned on his heel and left the room.

Was this all he got, then? For being handsome and charming and gallant. The privilege of being the consort to Glinda the Good? And when she didn't need him, he got to wait by the punch bowl? The hallway was dark and very quiet. His boots clicked on the polished floor as he walked towards the throne-room, seized by mischief. He'd never been in it, but he wanted to see it. To sneak into the centre of the government, just to say he could.

He was half-way to the room when someone yelled, "Guards!" His troop fell in behind him quickly and neatly, but he expected nothing less. They'd been well-trained to follow orders and jump when the bells rang. As he reached forward to put his hand on the door, it exploded in a wash of coloured lights, mostly red. A small whirlwind of…_flying monkeys_? raced past his head. They scattered in the corridor, screeching and eldritch, enraged by the frightened guardsmen. Someone in the throne-room yelled and Fiyero kicked the door down.

-----

She looked – fantastic. Almost as if she too had dressed for the ball she couldn't possibly know about (or did she? You heard so much about the Wicked Witch that you never knew what was true and what was rumour). That _dress_…Fiyero knew clothes. He had known about them before he met Glinda and his involvement with her had only led to a more intimate knowledge of couture than even he needed. Where in Oz's name had she gotten that _dress_? It was strips of black fabric – lace, satin, taffeta, silk – over scarlet with a frivolous little train and elegant lace flounces at the wrists; something to wear to tea, if it came in a different colour. With the pointed hat cockeyed and the cloak drifting about her shoulders like wings, she looked dangerous, strange, and fantastic. Glinda couldn't have done a better job with the clothes if she'd tried.

Fiyero sent the guards away and eyed his former school-fellow over the barrel of his gun. _For the sake of five-foot eight of wavering light._ She stared back at him, dark eyes under the hat-brim hot and distrustful. "Again. I should have _guessed_. How could I have been so stupid?" She shook her head, angry at herself. Again that strange look, half hunger and half self-loathing.

"Elphaba," he said shortly, trying to affirm that was still her name, at some level her identity, and that this volatile creature in a beautiful dress was the same awkward girl who had once pushed him into the Centennial Fountain. Had once held fire in her hands and pulled him to her out of sheer magnetism. Five years did a lot to people. Look at Glinda. Hell, look at _him_. "Elphaba, get out."

"What?"

"Get. Out. Now." She reached for the broom, eyes never leaving his face. He jerked his chin towards the wood in her hand. "So it's true about that?"

"Why do you care?" she snapped. "Sir _Captain_."

The Wizard muttered something, Elphaba looked toward him, and then somebody squeaked. Fiyero turned his head and strained his peripheral vision. He was picking up something…green? Elphaba gasped and took a step backwards. "No," she whispered. "No, I _don't want this_. Not now."

A swish of pale green streaked across Fiyero's vision and threw itself at Elphaba. "You shouldn't have come!" said Fiyero's fiancée.

Elphaba returned the hug distractedly. "Believe me," she said. "I didn't plan on it." Fiyero looked at the two of them, Glinda in her pretty green ball gown, Elphaba in her dashing lace number which, at the moment, was picking up candle-light and looked almost pink. He sighed.

"You're a criminal and a bad person." Glinda squeezed the other girl's shoulders. "I've missed you _so_ much! You need to leave!" She held Elphaba out at arm's length and looked at her. "Miss Elphaba," she said, with one the real smiles she was sometimes capable of producing, "I do believe you've got beautiful. I _love_ your dress!"

"Thank you," Elphaba muttered. "Look, I need to –"

Glinda spun round. "Fiyero – why darling, what _are_ you doing?" Then she saw the gun pointed at the Wizard and, because she was Glinda, she shrieked.

Oh, damn.

Several guards thundered in. Behind them came two men lugging a bucket of water each. _Oh dear_, thought Fiyero. _I hope that was only a rumour_. Glinda was standing next to Elphaba, apparently filling her in on the gossip. "…and we really _are_ going to get married, just like I said! Do you remember? Anyway, I'm going to have flowers from Gillikin and…"

"Elphaba," said Fiyero shortly. "You leave." He didn't know why he was so fixated on this. It was like he'd made a decision, but he couldn't remember when, or even how. It was just something he'd done, a sorting of values which had happened maybe now, maybe when he'd seen her on the rafts surrounded by circus-folk, maybe earlier. Something about that dress and the way she looked and the aura of power that floated around her like her cloak. _That_ is class, _that_ is style, _that_ is bravery. I want _that_. A strange split second when he'd seen her differently and known that he would follow her anywhere. He wanted out from this whatever-it-was that he was living and the freedom Elphaba carried was palpable. It was, he thought savagely, the way people fell in love with Glinda at first sight. Like that, but worse. Stronger. _She is worth fighting for_.

"Fiyero dear," said Glinda, "_What_ is going on?"

Elphaba scooped up the broom and snatched her hat from Glinda, retreating towards the windows. Glinda ran to Fiyero. "Darling, explain?"

Fiyero looked at the dark silhouette against the windows. She said, "I hope your wedding is gloriastic," in a voice that was half mocking and half something else. It was that something else that Fiyero was interested in. And the fact that he suddenly couldn't imagine what would happen if she died here, a splash of green and scarlet on the marble floor of the throne room. He had a sudden, frightening image of pools of blood on the ground, twisting into meaningless patterns. Blood on the floor, blood on the walls, blood on green hands and shaking shoulders…Fiyero staggered. _No_. He thought of Elphaba, the Gale Forcers he commanded, the thirteenth-century terrorist he was named for. _No. That is not happening_._ Not to her. _

_She's killed people. Lots, in the past five years. She poisoned a well and took out an entire Detention Centre. _

_I don't care. She believes in her cause and she was helping the Animals. _

_The Wizard believes in his cause too. He's the head of the government. He's legit. _

_Fine. I'm not clever. I'm not even particularly law-abiding, when it comes right down to it. That illegal still in Kiamo Ko is sure to come back to haunt me sometime. But…all I know, and I do know it, is that nothing is happening to that woman. Not if I can prevent it._

Instinct took over. He grabbed Glinda round the shoulders, pointing the gun at the guards and Wizard and Madam Morrible. "I'm going with her," he said.

Glinda struggled. "What! You – and her? All along?" She turned her head back as much as she could to see his face. "Behind my _back_?"

"What?" The Wizard blinked.

"What?" The Morrible trumpeted.

"What?" said a husky voice from the darkened windows.

The guards simply looked confused.

"No," said Elphaba desperately, speaking just outside of the light. "It wasn't like that, Glinda."

"Yes," contradicted Fiyero. "It might well have been." He pushed Glinda suddenly and she stumbled. The guards surged forward, catching her and grabbing for Fiyero and Elphaba. He dived towards the window and caught Elphaba and the broom as it took off.

"Sweet Oz!" he held onto the broom with a death grip as they tilted crazily over the evening lights of the Emerald City. Then they turned West and his face was covered by a billow of cloak.

"No, you great Winkie dolt," Elphaba yelled, "hold onto _me_, not the broom!" They tipped sideways and the weight pulled Fiyero's hands free. He snatched at her waist and caught it with a yell of frustration (not fear. Certainly not.) He could feel her laugh, then, and she freed a hand to pull the cloak down. "Better?"

"Nnguh," said Fiyero.

She laughed again, a full, alive laugh. "You sure?" She leaned forward over the broom and their speed increased. Elphaba opened her mouth to the wind and yelled, in victory, or defiance, or something. Fiyero wasn't sure what. "EEEEEEEEEE-YAH!" The sound trailed back around him like the wind, a giddy, contagious exhilaration.

"You almost deafened me," he yelled conversationally.

"Wouldn't make any difference," she yelled back. "You never listen anyway."

"Won't they hear down there?"

"No." She laughed. "Now you; go on."

"What am I supposed to say?"

"Anything." She appeared to think. "Do some names; you used to like them well enough." She pondered briefly, then yelled an experimental, "Nessaaaaa!" Abruptly, she tipped the broom almost directly vertical. She turned her head to talk to him, face close enough that he could have kissed her. "Hold on, Yero," she said, then threw her head back and screamed, "Fi-yeeeer-oooo" as they sailed up into the night.

When they leveled out again and he'd caught his breath, he squeezed her waist tightly. "Don't you _ever_ do that to me again, you madwoman! _Ever_. Do you understand?"

She stuck a very sharp elbow into his stomach. "I don't know what you're talking about."

"Don't yell my name like that; it's creepy. Made me break out in goosebumps."

"Might have been the wind." She shrugged. "You're got a good name for yelling – it has just the right amount of vowels."

"It just didn't sound…very triumphant." He rearranged himself and a thought came to him. "Here, I know," he suggested, and began to sing the Shiz school song. Elphaba joined him and they struggled through all eight verses before giving up in laughter.

-----

They landed a good way outside of the city, giddy and cold. Fiyero stretched, feeling all the tension slowly flow out of his muscles. "And _this_ is your preferred mode of transportation?"

"It's not meant to carry two," she said shortly, running her hands over the stick. Elphaba grounded was a good deal more serious than Elphaba flying. Scarier, more intense. "But I don't think you broke it." She glanced up at him, hat shadowing her face almost completely. "What kind of a stunt was _that_?"

"Which one?"

"You deciding to come along for the ride."

"Oh, that." Fiyero shrugged. "There's playing your part and then there's…actually doing some good." He ran a hand through his hair. "It's a choice, that's all."

Elphaba stood up and crossed her arms. "And here I thought you were tracking down soulless terrorists. Whence this sudden change of heart?"

Fiyero squinted at her, trying to see through the hat shadows. He sighed. "What can I say? Law-breaking is in my blood. And, well, it got to be a bad habit, thinking. I kept getting bored when I wasn't. Sorry I scared you."

Elphaba Thropp, the renegade Witch and terror of Oz, bristled. "You didn't _scare_ me." She put the broom over her shoulder. "I can take care of myself."

"Evidently," said Fiyero. He walked beside her as she strode down the road. "Here; I thought we did the fighting already. Why are you going all cranky on me? You were friendly enough in the air."

"I hadn't thought –" She was walking faster. "Flying's different; it makes you lose your common sense. If you come with me, you're an outlaw too. I should make you go back or something."

"Elphaba." He grabbed her shoulders and forced her to stop. Somewhere up in the sky he'd lost his fear: of her, of consequences, of limits. It had been a relatively new fear anyway, and he was glad to see it go. Back to the freedom of adolescence, perhaps, when he was happy to dance through life, mindless and careless. She could do what she wanted and be damned to it. "You have no more control over me than I have over you; is that understood? You cannot make me go anywhere I do not wish to go." She looked away. "You made your choice five years ago. I've made mine. So don't even _think_," he gave her a little shake, "of trying to make me do anything. You won't be able to beat me anyway – I'm Captain of the Guard, remember?"

"How could I forget?" She twisted away sharply. "And I'm sure that they'll be very excited when you report back to HQ and tell them that you tracked down the Witch."

"Oh, for…Elphaba!" He ran after her. "Stop it. I swear to you: this is honest, this is true." She stopped again, a silhouette with hat, cloak, broom, skeptical and dangerous. "You make me think about things differently, always have. I've been looking for you ever since you left Shiz; I can't get you out of my mind. And about the carnival: I was confused, off-guard. I didn't mean half of that, I – Elphaba, I _promise_ I'm not spying, I'm just – Fiyero. Stupid, charming, handsome and mildly annoying. I haven't changed all that much."

She stood still, and he waited, a little giggling tendril of fear unfolding in his chest. Maybe she would point at him and do…_something_, though he couldn't imagine what. Finally she said, "I rather think you have. Very well, just Fiyero. Follow along if you wish."

They walked in silence until Fiyero gave a small, reflective laugh. "Those guards were really something, weren't they?" She didn't answer, but he studied her profile. The uncompromising line of her lips twitched. He began impersonating the guards who had come into the room. "And Norbert – the really young one; he's terribly pretty, but doesn't have _any_ personality – kind of looked at you and stopped dead and the one behind him dumped water all over him." Fiyero laughed. Elphaba giggled. "Didn't know what hit him."

He kept talking. Always aware of who he was talking to, he recognized that it didn't matter what he said, as long as he talked. She was, he felt, desperately lonely. That was why she'd lingered when Glinda came in. And so he let words, the silly, inoffensive words that were his speciality, wash around both of them. Stories of the army, scandalous gossip about Emerald City society, Glinda's stellar career as a socialite, reminiscences of Shiz, even a reference to the infamous Centennial Fountain. She laughed, happy in the past. Once she stumbled, and he caught her elbow. "You all right?" She nodded but her face – what he could see it – looked tired.

The road curving off to the West needed repair. It hadn't really bothered Fiyero before – no one ever went out to Kiamo Ko anyway – but now it was a bit annoying. You actually had to pay attention when you walked, for one thing. Otherwise you'd probably end up with a broken ankle. He wondered if Elphaba put up with that silly dress because she got to fly everywhere. They came to a larger gap and Fiyero, without really thinking beyond a joke, picked Elphaba up and swung her over the crack. She muttered and pushed him, struggling good-naturedly against his hold and he made faces at her until she leaned her head against his shoulder laughing. "You don't laugh enough," he pointed out.

"And you laugh too much, Sir Captain." She slipped away. "Life is fraughtless for the thoughtless indeed."

"Oh, Miss Elphaba," said Fiyero, and rolled his eyes. He slung an arm around her shoulders and, with the supreme disregard for consequences that he had kept nearly intact throughout almost failing out of Shiz, being engaged to Glinda, and recent outlawry, he hugged her, and pulled all the pins out of her hair. Elphaba squawked in a very undignified way as her hair cascaded around her shoulders and caught in the buttons of Fiyero's detested uniform.

It was dirty and tied in knots, but it still smelled of incense, and was still sleek along his fingers. "Black as midnight, sweet as sin," he whispered, burying one hand in her hair. Then, naturally as affection always came to him, he turned her face up and kissed her.

Briefly. Elphaba jerked away. "Oh, no you don't."

"Oh, no I don't what?"

"Nothing." She turned away and began to walk faster.

He ran after her and caught her arm. "Elphaba, you need to rest."

"If you're not accustomed to walking, Sir Captain, you can certainly rest your feet. But I am not stopping until tomorrow."

"It _is_ tomorrow," said Fiyero. "Almost. And there's a perfectly good farmhouse over there."

"Where?"

He grabbed her shoulders and turned her. "There. With the apple trees."

She twisted away from him, her hair coiling around his fingers. "Oh, all right. If you insist."

They walked to the farmhouse and found that it was indeed abandoned. But it was warm and sheltered from the rain they both smelled blowing up from the South and it would be a good place to spend the night. Fiyero took off his boots and uniform jacket. It had been a hell of a long day. Elphaba dropped cloak, hat, and broom in a pile by the door and stood watching him for a moment, face unreadable. She lit a candle, the little point of light flaring over her face and hands, washing the green with gold. Fiyero looked up and, even as he grinned at her, felt the expression fade to something closer to wonder. She was beautiful. How had they missed it, as silly post-adolescents? How had _he_ missed it? "Well, since you've been working hard subverting the law, shall I give you the bed?"

"Shh." Moving neatly and decisively, managing her train like an Emerald City matron, Elphaba walked over to the door, listened at it, and jammed a chair under the handle. Then she made the circuit of the room, carefully pulling all the curtains and shutters over the windows. After the last one, she turned again and ran into Fiyero, who was standing in the middle of the room, hands held palm out as if to ward off something. Their hands met, fingers entwined. "Fiyero," said Elphaba.

"Elphaba," he said, and squeezed her hands. "I wanted - "

Her eyes were alive with something and he realized that, in fact, they didn't need to say anything. She leaned forward and kissed him, awkwardly. Her lips were warm, soft, urgent, and Fiyero found himself kissing her back. Neither the Shiz debutantes nor the Emerald City chorus girls had made him feel quite like this before, and he was uncomfortably, hyper-aware of Elphaba in front of him. He freed his hands, sliding them around her shoulders and pulling her closer to fit against his body where he wanted her. Oh, Lurline, yes, he wanted her. Leave it at that, with no qualifiers or clauses. Just one sentence. He wanted her. Wanted the intoxicating smell of incense and the curves under that damned beautiful dress; wanted the clever, long-fingered hands to stay round his neck, holding onto him like he was the only steady thing in the room. He was submerged in a torrent of _want_ stronger than anything he'd ever felt before. Eventually he stopped, remembering the nervous chill of Glinda on her doorstep. He pulled away and took a deep breath. "Are you – I didn't mean to –"

Elphaba smiled faintly, a few tantalizing inches away. "Yes. I mean, no. I mean…" She flushed an interesting shade of mauve. "Don't – don't hold back on me." She pulled him backwards. "Make me feel real, Fiyero. I need help believing you're with me tonight. Now. Here. It's real and I want to remember it as _real_." And she kissed him again, fierce and unstoppable and full of an intensity that took his breath away. It was like trying to make love to a whirlwind. Later, resting and giddy, mind still floundering in a mix of madness and a love he was only just beginning to understand, he lay still and watched as a finger touch of moonlight crept around the shutters she had so carefully closed and sidled across the bed. Elphaba rested her chin on his chest and looked at him. "I wish –" she began.

"Hmm? What is it?"

Again, that fascinating mauve blush. "It's stupid. I can't help it, and I don't want to –"

"Elphaba…" Fiyero said. "Just tell me. I don't even care if it's insulting. Well, I do, but I suppose I can live with it."

She grimaced. "Oh, all right. I – I wish I could be – be beautiful." She squirmed and traced his cheekbone with one long finger. "For you. You deserve – something else."

He stared at her, with the stark lines of her face painted silver in the moonlight. She looked like a strange hybrid of two worlds, half borrowed moonlight and half the awkward, fiery energy he had unconsciously fallen in love with at Shiz.

"And don't say 'oh, no, really, you are,'" she continued. "Don't lie to me. I'm just not pretty."

"Elphaba…" Fiyero reached out and cupped her silver face. "It's surprise," he said softly, giving back her words from so long ago in the library. "Just surprise that I can look at you in the right light and have my heart pause and say 'She's – stunning.' Surprise that you are what you are." He pulled her closer. "You're nothing near so simple as pretty. With you, it's looking at things…a different way."

He kissed her again, slowly and thoroughly. This night was not meant to be wasted on anything but the here and now. It was just two people, Fiyero and Elphaba. Two people who needed each other and if it turned out it was over too fast, well, they'd have to make every last moment last. _Here, this is me. Now, this is you_.

He tried, at some sweet hour when the moonlight had gone away and there was only the warm darkness and breathing and sensation, to tell her that he loved her. "There's a Quadling aphorism somewhere," he murmured. "One and one make both. One and one, here and now. This is me, this is you."

Elphaba floated above him, defying gravity in her own particular way, green and silver and alive like fire in his arms, intent on taking pleasure before giving it; raw and intense and exhilarating. As the morning came they slept a little, tired and feeling that one had blended into the other until it might not be possible to remove Elphaba from Fiyero, or Fiyero from Elphaba. He woke first to find himself twisted around her and that yes, it was real. Everything. Dark eyelashes on green cheeks moved. "Yero, my hero," she said drowsily, and it melted his heart.

Later, properly into morning, Elphaba sat up and grabbed his arm. "What?" muttered Fiyero.

"Can't you hear someone crying?"

"No," Fiyero tried to pull her down beside him. "Maybe the house is haunted or something."

"Don't be ridiculous; I don't believe in ghosts." Her face paled, and then she had swung out of bed, pulling the blanket around her shoulders. Fiyero swore. "It's Nessa," she whispered, looking towards the Eastern window. "Nessa's in trouble. It's my fault – I didn't help her; I could have stayed. I should have stayed. I could've - " She pushed the window and shutters open. "Fiyero, did you see? It was – it was a house."

"Elphaba," said Fiyero. "Elphaba, calm down. Look. You can't go back there; they'll arrest you. And I didn't see any houses."

She shot him one furious, autocratic look. "Well I saw one. And they won't arrest _me_. I can fly, remember?" She dropped the blanket and began yanking on her dress in quick, neat movements. "Do me up the back, would you?"

"I don't think flight grants you general immunity," he pointed out, fastening the tiny buttons. "Where the hell did you get this thing? And how do you normally get it on?" He kissed her neck before doing the last button.

"It's not ideal, I know, but it was…convenient."

"You mean you wanted it because it was pretty. I _told_ you the high necklines were a good choice."

"Maybe." She turned. "Look, it's Nessa. I _have_ to go."

"All right, but listen." He followed her to the door, yanking a shirt over his head. "My family has a castle, Kiamo Ko, a few days journey from here."

"Hairpins. On the table."

He passed them to her. "It's full of secret passages and things. You won't bother anyone. No one even goes there anymore, except the factor when he needs to check on the still."

She looked at him, diverted. "Where do you live then?"

He grinned at her. "The other castle."

She rolled her eyes. "_You_." Elphaba grabbed the broom, paused, and came back to him. "Yero," she whispered, resting her forehead against his shoulder. "Oh, Yero."

They fit perfectly, he thought, digging his hands into her hair and ruining the half-finished braid. No buttons or bows or jewels in the wrong places, but two halves of something that belonged together. "Oh, Elphaba." She had called him Yero – the nickname he'd always detested, but she, somehow, managed to transmute it into something special; those two silly little nonsense syllables with the hint of a pun or a jeer. Nicknames. People made up so many of them. Glinda had never called him Yero; she'd called darling, love, pet – the more generic possibilities. And Elphaba. Well, he didn't have a short name for her. Elphie, Fabala; they were too young for the woman holding him now. They were Glinda-given names, perky and coy. No, she was just Elphaba. That beautiful roll of consonants and vowels he'd tried, once, to define for her. He hadn't done a good job, he remembered. Hadn't caught the exotic edge or strange contradictions. Perhaps it was because neither he nor she had recognized them at the time. "We'll see each other again?" He cradled her face, wanting to freeze time.

"Yes. I hope so." She shut her eyes and sighed. "I don't know. Will we?"

Someone had to make the decisions, someone had to make the sacrifices, someone had to let go first, and someone had to say the words that weren't true. He ran his thumb along her lips. "Yes, of course we will." She nodded and, gathering her train and cloak, left the house.

He stood in the doorway, watching the shape on the broomstick veer upwards into the young sunlight. Green blended back into its original gold: one huge blur of liquid light spreading over the horizon to swallow everything in view. _Love and wit and duty pledged to an extravagant and wheeling stranger of here and everywhere…Oh, Elphaba, I love you._ Fiyero squinted into the sunlight and breathed new air and felt as though he'd reached an end. Not the end end, but an end of sorts; the full circle to a moment that had begun in a winter library and traveled through seasons, moods and regions to end here in the sunshine of the Vinkus border.

-----

And somewhere else, she touched him on the shoulder and he looked up. "I'm out of paper; I'll need to deface more books if I'm to keep going."

"Well, I should say that makes your choice pretty clear."

"Indeed. Where did you put that Quadling cookbook again?" Laughter. "No," he stretched backwards, easing kinks out of his neck. "I'll stop here."

"Why?"

"After this, it's not my story." He kissed the hand. "I'm merely an accessory to the fact and unconscious a good part of the time. If anyone tells it, my dear lady, it is not destined to be me." He stood, putting down the pen. "I'm going to leave this on a new morning. It's a romance; that's how they end."

"Is it?"

"Yes."

_This one is for the reviewers who have been with me from the beginning, for the enthusiastic ones, for the converts to the Glinda/Fiyero canoe, for the people who complain about my spelling. All of you, really. You know who you are and I thank you for it. For **Veronika Green**, who suggested that it should be longer. I don't know if she realized what she had prompted. And, especially, for **Tom O'Bedlam**, who defined the concept of a Glinda-giggle, convinced me that Elphaba had a sense of humour (and indeed created the Elphaba who is in this story), and introduced me to a light-hearted, light-headed, boundlessly generous and utterly charming Fiyero. She doesn't write Wicked fics, but she should. _

_This is, by the way, the end. Just so you know. This story is 73 pages on my computer: the longest thing I've written to date. I'm impressed with myself and happy to share my ending vicariously with all of you. Honestly, I couldn't be happier. Thank you all so very much._


End file.
